C 40

Early the next morning, Anton arrived in Los Angeles. This city is known as the heart of Hollywood, where celebrities gather, and the journalists are far more aggressive than their New York counterparts. 

A crowd of reporters squatted at the airport exit, cameras poised and ready, eagerly awaiting Anton's arrival. With their extensive contacts, they often managed to uncover his next destination as soon as he boarded a plane, even if it was a private jet. 

No one was safe from their scrutiny; someone could always be bribed for information.

Not only the ordinary exits but even the VIP ones were swarmed with reporters. Anton couldn't understand how they had managed to infiltrate these areas. 

It seemed as though every exit had eyes on it, and the Los Angeles press had long been the king of intelligence gathering. They were omnipresent, whether on the ground or in the underground, covering everything from juicy gossip to major international events.

"Fire everyone back on the plane and bring in a new batch," Anton instructed, his expression souring as he surveyed the throng of reporters. It was clear to him that someone connected to the private jet had leaked his information.

"Understood," Betty, his personal assistant, replied. "Should I call the airport security?"

"Just bring them here," Anton sighed. He felt cornered, realizing he had little choice but to deal with the swarm of reporters, a situation he wasn't particularly skilled in managing. 

As the owner of the Daily Bugle, he understood all too well that anything he said could end up as the headline the following day. There was no doubt he had a reputation to uphold.

A few minutes later, surrounded by security, Anton managed to slip into a car and leave without giving the reporters a chance to ask questions. 

Despite the chaos, the cameras flashed in a frenzied attempt to capture his image. They followed his car as he drove to a mansion near Los Angeles.

"What is he doing here?" one reporter wondered aloud.

"It's a party," another replied, "Jim moved the celebration forward to eight o'clock tonight, so Anton is here to attend."

"What?" This news shocked the first reporter. "Wasn't the party supposed to be tomorrow?"

"Yep, a day early. If you don't know that, you might as well quit and go home. This job isn't for you," his colleague scoffed, casting a disdainful glance at him.

As the hours passed from morning to evening, Anton took time to rest before driving to the party venue, brimming with energy. 

Betty, seated beside him in the co-pilot seat, was a constant support. The reporters, still hot on his trail, were relentless.

Meanwhile, in New York, under Sloan's orders, members of the Fraternity gathered near the Empire State Building. The assembly included top killers like Fox, the Repairman, the Gunsmith, Mr. X, the Exterminator, and the Butcher. 

Almost all members had been dispatched for this mission, a direct response to the threat posed by Cross.

Cross, once a fellow member, had become a legendary figure within the Fraternity, never known to fail, and was revered by countless peers. His terrifying marksmanship made him a source of fear, even for those under the High Table. 

To put it bluntly, many believed that Cross was among the hardest individuals in the world to kill, ranking above even Sloan.

Although John Wick had earned the title of the King of Killers in New York, his ability to match Cross's prowess was questionable. If Wick could eliminate Cross, the High Table wouldn't be so concerned about him. 

What these Fraternity members were unaware of was that their every move was being monitored by a pair of glowing red eyes, lurking in the shadows. The figure hiding in the dark was tall and imposing, with pointed, rabbit-like ears—an ominous presence that observed everything.

As the party commenced in Los Angeles, a steady stream of prominent guests arrived to celebrate the global box office success of Batman Begins, which had exceeded $600 million. The shuttering of cameras echoed as reporters documented every moment. 

The bright flashes added a lively atmosphere to the gathering, though the reporters were kept at bay, only able to capture glimpses through the entrance.

A select few female reporters, however, managed to entwine themselves with "big names," strolling into the venue with a sense of pride that drew envy from their male counterparts. 

Anton, one of the stars of the evening, stood at the entrance to greet his fellow industry titans, both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. At that moment, it felt as if everyone were long-lost friends reuniting after many years apart.

Next to Anton was Jim Lambert, who had reclaimed his position among the top producers following the success of Batman Begins. Jim appeared vibrant and full of life, having shed the remnants of previous struggles.

"When are you planning to start shooting Batman Part 2?" Jim inquired, after welcoming most of the guests.

"It's already in the pipeline," Anton responded. "Alongside Batman, I have several other projects I'm preparing to push forward simultaneously. By the way, have you given any thought to joining my newly established DC company?"

Jim hesitated, clearly weighing the gravity of the decision. "This is a significant step for my career, Anton. I need more time to think it over."

"No problem, but my patience is limited," Anton replied calmly. "You know you're not the only producer in Hollywood. Everyone is vying for attention, and this industry is cutthroat."

Jim's expression shifted slightly as he realized the weight of Anton's words. "I understand. I'll give you my answer as soon as I can."

"Great, let's head inside," Anton said, shifting the conversation. "Everyone who needs to be here has arrived; it's time to get the festivities underway."

With that, he stepped into the bustling crowd. Jim lingered for a moment, watching Anton navigate the sea of guests before forcing a smile and following suit.

Ten minutes passed, and Anton's eyes suddenly gleamed with a hint of intensity. If someone were to closely observe him at that moment, they might see flashes of a different scene reflected in his pupils—one that didn't belong to the party, but rather to an abyss of darkness.

Meanwhile, in New York, Cross was cleverly disguised as a cleaner, moving stealthily through the corridors of the Empire State Building. He knew this battle would be decisive, and he intended to use the Fraternity's anticipation to his advantage, deliberately exposing himself to lure them in. 

Years of evasion had exhausted him; it was time to eliminate the leader of the Fraternity once and for all. Either he would perish, or they would.

Suddenly, all the lights in the Empire State Building went dark as the power was cut. Such outages were common at night and usually went unnoticed, but Cross raised an eyebrow, realizing that the Fraternity had infiltrated the building.

Little did they know, as the lights flickered out, a third party had entered the fray, watching and waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike.

….

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