asphyxiation makes most people panic. while john does, indeed, struggle, he never begins to lose that frigid calm he always conducts himself with. wick throws his elbow back, slamming into his attacker’s rib cage at least four times before they start positioning themselves so he can’t land a blow. that’s when he unleashes a barrage of elbows with his opposite arm now, but the world is fading fast & he’s got to get himself out of this situation quick before he’s unconscious.
the legendary assassin slams back up against the far wall, crushing his attacker against it. it’s enough for the arm around his throat to loosen just a bit, & john’s fingers – with all of the strength that could possibly be exerted under those circumstances – peels away the other hitman’s arm. once he’s forced it to extend out, he jerks the arm down on his shoulder, snapping it at the joint with a sickening pop. with that, john is freed of the stranglehold as his assailant is reduced to a screaming, blubbering mess from the sheer pain.
then wick stampedes forward, throwing his weight into the other contract killer & sending him crashing through the window behind him, where he falls shrieking in fear. john hears that sickening, bone splintering impact from up on the third floor, & while he knows it’s possible for the that fall to kill, he isn’t satisfied just yet.
he whips around the corner & out the door of the apartment complex, gliding down the staircase & towards the fire exit. moving to shove through the door, glacial blasts of winter wind pushes back against it. a cacophony of alarms begin ringing out, but it doesn’t deter the determined legend from shoving on through the door & out into the snow concrete jungle. people are peering out their windows, a crowd is forming across the street. onlookers are stepping out from their shops & homes by the time he reaches his foe whom lays dying on the sidewalk, his crimson blood splashed against the fluffy white bed of snow around him, unfortunately, the persistent killer still struggles to heave labored breathes, & his drowned inhales are telltale signs that blood has started pooling in his lungs.
with everyone watching, john apathetically pulls a colt 45 from a holster at his back, sweeps it’s barrel forward & pulls the trigger, eliminating yet another thread of conflict from his life. earning himself a moment of peace. he holsters the weapon, raising his gaze from the body & meeting with everyone watching with a mixture of terror & interest. a number of people are recording with their phones, silently watching on in anticipation of his next move. some scattered when they heard the shot, but not all. it’s strange – they likely detect his calm, since it practically bleeds from his pores. he doesn’t plan on attacking any of them, so long as nobody tries to take him out & be a hero.