Fox entered Smith's office carrying a leather portfolio, her expression professional and focused. She opened the folder and extracted two gold coin prototypes, placing them carefully on his desk.
"The Continental Hotel rebranding and bounty notifications have been distributed globally," she reported. "These are the proposed designs for our new currency. Both feature your portrait on the obverse."
She indicated the first coin. "This version displays the Fraternity's traditional symbol on the reverse."
Her finger moved to the second option. "This alternative features our curved bullet design, the three-stage trajectory pattern."
Smith examined both coins thoughtfully, weighing them in his palm and studying the craftsmanship. After a moment's consideration, he set down the second coin.
"Use the Fraternity symbol for the Assassin's Brotherhood currency. The curved bullet design is significant to our history and methods, let's preserve it as a keepsake rather than common currency. Perhaps we can mint commemorative versions for senior members."
Fox nodded, making a note. "Understood."
"Also," Smith continued, "we need to amplify enthusiasm among the assassin community. Produce several demonstration videos showing the wax bath's healing capabilities. Use footage from previous treatments, before and after comparisons, accelerated time-lapse of bone regeneration, that sort of thing."
"The gold coin incentive is strong, but seeing the medical results will eliminate any lingering skepticism."
"I'll have the media team compile footage from our archives immediately." Fox collected the coins and documentation. "Should be ready for distribution within hours."
Smith leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the strategy's elegant simplicity. Let the global assassin community exhaust themselves eliminating Hand foot soldiers. The Fraternity's precision shooters would provide overwatch and support from distance. When the Five Fingers finally emerged from hiding, depleted and desperate, he'd handle them personally.
Wilson Fisk emerged from the Midland Circle building with Bullseye and three bodyguards flanking him. The morning sun cast long shadows across the Hell's Kitchen street, but several figures approaching the building's entrance caught his attention.
One of them glanced at Fisk's group, assessed them for perhaps two seconds, then shook his head. "Not targets. Intel says the main concentration is inside."
Fisk maintained his stride toward his waiting vehicle, neither acknowledging the comment nor altering his pace. Only after settling into the reinforced SUV's leather interior did he speak.
"What's happening in New York? Why are armed contractors converging on this location?"
His driver, who'd been monitoring communications, turned slightly. "Boss, the Continental Hotel just officially reopened under new management, rebranded as the Assassin's Brotherhood. They've posted a single bounty: members of the Hand organization."
"They're also advertising some kind of advanced medical treatment called a wax bath. According to the chatter, it's generating significant interest."
Even as they spoke, more armed individuals entered the building, some moving with professional efficiency, others displaying the nervous energy of amateurs hoping for an easy payday.
Through the SUV's bulletproof windows, Fisk observed the building's lobby. The security guards and reception staff who'd been stationed there this morning now lay motionless on the polished floor, dark pools spreading beneath them.
"The Fraternity is moving faster than anticipated." Fisk's voice remained calm, but his mind raced through implications and contingencies. "Drive. We're leaving this area immediately."
The SUV pulled away just as sustained gunfire erupted inside the building. The distinctive cracks of pistols mixed with the deeper roar of automatic weapons, creating a chaotic symphony of violence.
Glass exploded outward from upper-floor windows as bullets punched through. Several high-velocity rounds, clearly from precision rifles positioned on surrounding rooftops, found targets inside the building. The Fraternity's snipers had established overwatch positions and were methodically eliminating Hand operatives visible through the windows.
On the building's top floor, the Five Fingers had gathered to coordinate their New York operations. The conference room's panoramic windows offered commanding views of Hell's Kitchen, though heavy curtains currently blocked direct sightlines, a basic security precaution against the very sniper fire now ravaging their foot soldiers below.
Madame Gao was mid-sentence, discussing the logistics of capturing John Wick for interrogation, when alarms shrieked throughout the building.
Her eyes narrowed fractionally, the only outward sign of irritation. A moment later, someone knocked urgently on the reinforced door.
One of the two guards stationed inside moved to answer. A Hand ninja entered, his dark tactical gear still pristine, his breathing controlled despite having sprinted up multiple flights of stairs. He approached Madame Gao and bowed slightly.
"Multiple hostiles have breached the perimeter. Ground floor security has been eliminated. Additionally, we're taking sniper fire from elevated positions outside."
Madame Gao exchanged glances with Bakuto and Murakami. This level of coordinated assault indicated either the Fraternity making an immediate power play, or another major organization attempting to exploit the perceived conflict between the Hand and their new rivals.
"Someone is attempting to intimidate us," she said, her voice carrying the weight of five centuries' experience. "They hope to drive us out of New York before we can properly establish ourselves."
She turned to the ninja. "Nobu, assemble a tactical team. Eliminate all intruders. Show them the cost of challenging the Hand."
As Nobu departed to gather his forces, Madame Gao addressed the second guard. "Route all security camera feeds to this room. I want to see exactly who's foolish enough to attack us."
Within minutes, the conference room's wall-mounted displays flickered to life, showing multiple camera angles throughout the building. The feeds revealed a chaotic assault, dozens of attackers moving through the lower floors with varying degrees of competence.
Madame Gao studied the screens with clinical detachment. "Disorganized. No tactical coordination whatsoever."
She was correct. Some attackers wore the distinctive bulletproof suits favored by Continental Hotel professionals, but others had barely adequate protection, leather jackets, motorcycle helmets, improvised armor. They moved independently, competing with each other as much as fighting the Hand's defenders.
"They're not soldiers," Murakami observed. "Mercenaries. Bounty hunters."
"The Fraternity is outsourcing." Alexandra's lips curved into a cold smile. "How resourceful."
On screen, the Hand's tactical teams began their counterassault. Trained soldiers moving with precision and discipline cut through the disorganized attackers. Within minutes, the invaders had been driven back from the third floor, leaving bodies scattered across blood-slicked corridors.
But the external snipers shifted the momentum. High-powered rounds punched through windows and walls, dropping Hand soldiers mid-advance. The covering fire allowed several surviving bounty hunters to retreat, many pausing only long enough to decapitate their kills or photograph the corpses, presumably proof required to claim their rewards.
The remaining attackers consolidated at the second-floor stairwell, establishing a desperate defensive position. Automatic weapons chattered continuously as both sides poured fire into the narrow killzone.
Then the Hand's tactical team deployed grenades.
The explosions were deafening even through the security feed's audio compression. Smoke and debris filled the stairwell, and when it cleared, the bounty hunters' position had been obliterated. Body parts and weapons lay scattered across the shattered concrete.
Nobu himself led the final push, his katana flowing through the remaining attackers with surgical precision. Within minutes, the building fell silent except for the groans of the dying.
The external snipers, recognizing the assault had failed, withdrew from their positions. This had been merely a probing attack, testing the Hand's defenses and response capabilities.
Madame Gao turned away from the screens, unimpressed. "First wave. They'll be back with better tactics and more numbers."
Across the city, similar assaults were occurring at the Hand's Tokyo stronghold. The Goko Building came under sustained attack from Japanese assassins eager to claim bounties without traveling internationally. News of these coordinated strikes spread rapidly through the criminal underworld's communication networks.
Assassins worldwide began converging on New York and Tokyo, the two cities offering the highest concentration of targets. The Assassin's Brotherhood's inaugural bounty had triggered exactly the response Smith had calculated: overwhelming numbers compensating for individual lack of skill, with the promise of life-saving medical care motivating even cautious professionals to take risks they'd normally avoid.
Many were already planning ahead, determining they needed to secure at least one or two wax bath reservations immediately. In their profession, having guaranteed access to rapid healing could mean the difference between retirement and a shallow grave.
At the Fraternity headquarters, Helen Wick found Puar in one of the common areas, the blue shape-shifter currently in cat form and lounging in a patch of sunlight.
"Puar, I need your help." Helen's voice carried barely concealed worry. "John went out alone to hunt Hand members. I'm concerned about his safety."
John had insisted on participating personally, partly from loyalty to Smith and the Fraternity, partly from a desire to prove his worth as more than just the catalyst for this conflict. He'd armed himself extensively, loaded his car with enough weapons to siege a small fortress, and driven directly into Hell's Kitchen despite Helen's objections.
Puar transformed into his humanoid form, his expression thoughtful. "John Wick serves Master Smith loyally. That dedication deserves protection." His voice held genuine respect. "Since you've asked, I'll ensure his safety. Master Smith values John as a brother, I won't allow him to fall to such rabble."
Relief flooded Helen's features. "Thank you, Puar. Truly."
Puar summoned one of the Fraternity's junior members with a gesture, then headed for the garage. John Wick had proven himself worthy through both skill and character. Allowing the young master's sworn brother to die in some pointless skirmish would be unacceptable.
Time to ensure the Baba Yaga lived up to his legend.
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