The inside of the cabin looked just as rustic as the outside. A lot of the furniture was quite rugged, clearly the handiwork of the former hitman himself.
However, a few small potted flowers on the windowsill and delicate handmade ornaments scattered around gave the shabby little cabin a warm, lived-in feel.
As Mike was looking around, John, having settled his wife in the adjoining room, stepped back out.
"What do you want from me?"
John asked bluntly, his eyes locked onto Mike. A noticeable bulge protruded from his lower back.
It was obvious that he had grabbed a weapon before coming back out.
Sensing the sudden spike in "killing intent," Needy instinctively reached for her own waist, right where she kept her weapons.
The tension in the room instantly skyrocketed.
"That's not very hospitable, John~"
Mike said calmly.
"As the host, shouldn't you offer your guests a drink first?"
Perhaps it was Mike's completely unfazed reaction that threw John off, making it hard for him to read the kid's intentions.
After staring at Mike for a few more seconds, he abruptly turned and walked into the kitchen.
A short while later, a freshly brewed pot of black tea was placed on the table, and John sat down across from Mike.
The brief pause had given the former hitman time to cool off significantly.
"John Wick. Former professional hitman for the New York Continental Hotel. Executed over twenty Class-A contracts, and more than fifty Class-B contracts..."
Mike began listing John's resume. Just as the man across from him was about to lose his cool, Mike switched gears.
"Right now, on behalf of Special Division X, I'm offering you a chance at a new life. Join my Team X, and I'll make a chunk of your problems disappear."
"Or, you can turn me down, and take your chances going a few rounds with my teammate, Needy..."
Because of his history as a hitman, John was already blacklisted by all public agencies, making it virtually impossible to find a normal job that required a clean ID.
And because he had also broken the rules of the Continental Hotel, his name was just as toxic in the underworld.
You could say John had absolutely nowhere left to turn, in both the light and the dark.
Given his current situation—needing serious cash for his wife's medical treatments—Mike was undeniably his best option.
"Who do you work for?"
John was clearly tempted. But, being cautious, he pressed further,
"And how do I know your organization doesn't have an ulterior motive?"
As a man living on the edge, John didn't care much about his own life. But with his wife to worry about, the last thing he wanted was to get tangled up with law enforcement.
After all, his past "work" wasn't exactly legal. One wrong move and he'd be looking at life without parole, minimum.
"I work for the MIB, and we collaborate closely with agencies like the FBI, IRS, and others..."
Mike flashed a stack of badges, playing his trump card.
"As long as you join my team, I can get you a completely new identity. Give you a chance to live in the light..."
"On top of that, as a member of my team, you'll get a base salary of fifty grand a month, plus bonuses for every special assignment you complete."
Flashing the badges proved the immense power of the organization backing him, adding massive weight to his pitch. And the salary he offered would instantly solve John's most pressing crisis.
As a former hitman, John hadn't exactly saved much for a rainy day. Now, with his wife's mounting medical bills, his financial strain was painfully obvious.
Hearing Mike's terms, John was visibly swayed.
His eyes flickered as he wrestled with the decision before finally deciding to take the gamble.
"If everything you're saying is true, I'll join your team..."
"But before we make it official, I need to know exactly what this MIB does. And what exactly will our missions entail?"
Spoken like a true former assassin—always meticulous about the details.
But his attitude alone was proof enough that Mike's recruitment pitch was mostly a success.
"The MIB is an agency that handles special incidents, dedicated to maintaining world peace~"
Having essentially sealed the deal, Mike spoke with an easy familiarity.
"As for the specifics of the missions, you'll find out in a couple of days. Right now, I need you to look into someone for me. A guy named Wesley."
Wesley was just an ordinary office drone who had likely already been picked up by the Fraternity of Assassins. They planned to use him as bait to take out his father, "Cross," a former Fraternity member who had gone rogue.
Mike had previously asked Chris to look into Wesley, but unfortunately, the guy didn't work for any company under Wall Street's umbrella.
However, rats know the ratways. For a "nobody" like Wesley, someone like John—who had a massive grassroots information network—was the perfect guy for the job.
"I..."
Faced with Mike's sudden familiarity, John really wanted to say he wasn't ready to start working just yet.
"Tell you what. Think of it as a signing bonus. I'll front you your first month's salary right now."
Since he could expense everything anyway, Mike generously opted for the financial offensive.
And sure enough, watching an extra fifty grand hit his account, John wisely kept his mouth shut.
He needed the money way too badly right now.
About ten minutes later, after going over a few more details with John, Mike left the cabin with Needy.
Helen, who had been listening from the adjoining room the entire time, rolled her wheelchair over to her husband the moment Mike and Needy left, gently taking his hand.
She had soft, flowing hair and a gentle demeanor that somehow possessed the magical ability to calm anyone around her.
"Everything's going to be alright~"
Looking at his wife, John felt an overwhelming sense of happiness, but also a renewed sense of purpose.
To put her mind at ease, he gave her a brief rundown of who Mike was and what the deal entailed.
On the flip side, Mike actually already knew exactly where the Fraternity's headquarters was located and planned to strike in two days.
Having John look into Wesley was just him playing a long game.
The reason was simple: Wesley had the potential to become a member of his Team X.
Over the next day or so, Mike made a trip to MIB headquarters. While applying for funding and requesting weapons, he also took care of John's new identity.
Even though the MIB didn't officially belong to any government branch, their sheer reach and power were undeniable.
By the time he was done, John's criminal record had completely vanished from every law enforcement database.
Two days later, Mike rolled up to the outskirts of Queens in the Supercar and met up with John, who was now dressed in a sharp black suit.
Having cleaned himself up, if it weren't for his signature beard, John would have looked exactly like a high-end corporate elite.
"I tracked down Wesley. A few days ago, he was picked up by a woman and brought to that abandoned textile mill up ahead..."
Having a new lease on life, John settled into his role quickly and delivered his report.
"I staked the place out for a whole day and haven't seen anyone come out. But I did notice something else: someone else is keeping an eye on that mill, just like me..."
"All signs point to that place hiding some serious secrets."
As expected from a former elite hitman, John's reconnaissance and counter-surveillance skills were top-tier.
"Good work. Don't worry about the guy in the shadows for now."
Mike praised John's work ethic, then handed him his new ID and a Series 4 De-atomizer.
"Now, say hello to your new identity. From now on, you won't ever have to worry about anyone showing up to 'check your water meter' again."
Holding the new ID card, John felt a surge of emotion, getting a clearer picture of just how powerful the MIB really was.
Being part of an organization with this kind of pull didn't feel bad at all.
Then, gripping the De-atomizer, John asked curiously,
"What does 'checking the water meter' mean?"
Clearly, the former hitman wasn't familiar with the internet slang.
"You'll see in a minute."
Mike smiled playfully, keeping him in suspense.
Then, John watched as Mike pulled a massive tri-barrel plasma gun out of the vintage Ford, strutted right up to the front doors of the abandoned mill, and pounded heavily on them.
"Anybody home?! Open up!!! We're here to check the water meter~"
Queens was one of the Big Apple's three major lower-income boroughs, and the outskirts were littered with abandoned factories. However, a derelict facility of this sheer size was definitely a rare sight.