C 27

"Winston, it's a pleasure to meet you for the first time. Do I need to introduce myself to show my respect?" Anton's voice was low and smooth as he walked slowly toward Winston, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Winston was taken aback. He never expected Anton to crack the code to enter his secure safe house. 

He set down his wine glass, a sense of urgency washing over him as he pointed his gun at Anton. At that moment, the dark armor Anton wore was still pristine, devoid of blood or any signs of the carnage he had wrought to reach this point. 

Despite the facade of calm, Winston felt the weight of the man's presence; he had left a trail of broken bones and paralyzed bodies behind him, and the atmosphere was thick with an unsettling tension.

Sweat trickled down Winston's forehead, a clear indication of his growing anxiety. He knew, deep down, that the weapon in his hand would be ineffective against the armored figure standing before him, yet he couldn't bring himself to lower it. 

"The Continental Hotel has been established for so many years, and you are the first person to break in here," he said, attempting to regain control of the situation. 

"Batman, I don't care who you are; this is the Continental Hotel, which is under the jurisdiction of the High Table. If you kill me, you not only offend all the killers in the underground of New York City but also the High Table itself."

Anton's calm demeanor contrasted sharply with Winston's anxiety. "This isn't an attitude of reconciliation," he replied, his voice steady and low, sending a chill down Winston's spine. 

Winston understood that this wasn't just a casual meeting. Even if Anton decided to spare him now, the inevitable report to the High Table would follow, and it wouldn't be pretty for either of them.

"What the hell are you going to do?" Winston asked, his voice taut with fear.

"Retaliation!" Anton's tone remained eerily calm. "You send someone to kill me, and I will retaliate. Isn't that reasonable?"

Winston's eyes widened in realization, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

"Did I send someone to kill you?" he stammered, suddenly comprehending that this whole situation was a calamity brought about by previous miscalculations—a sinking ship in murky waters.

"How can you let me go?" he continued, a desperate edge creeping into his voice.

Anton's gaze was unwavering. "Life Foundation," he stated plainly, the name hanging in the air like a thunderclap.

Winston's eyes widened further, remembering the last assignment he had handled not long ago—right before John Wick's retirement. 

"You are..." he began, but the weight of Anton's cold stare made him hesitate. He couldn't bring himself to say the name out loud, not in this moment.

As the hour hand ticked ominously toward midnight, a cacophony of police sirens filled the air, echoing through the streets outside the Continental Hotel.

 A large convoy of police cars gathered, their flashing lights casting eerie shadows against the walls of the hotel. 

Not far away, reporters with cameras scrambled to capture the unfolding chaos, their excitement palpable. They sensed something big was happening. 

The Continental Hotel was known for its powerful connections, and the sight of police presence was an anomaly that piqued their curiosity.

"Is the Continental Hotel finally crumbling?" they murmured among themselves. "Who could have possibly offended such a powerful establishment?"

The anticipation in the air was electric. This was big news—an event that could shake the very foundations of New York. 

Just then, a squad of police officers stormed into the hotel, swiftly apprehending a group of severely wounded killers and dragging them out to awaiting police vans.

Despite the chaos inside, the reporters didn't hear a single gunshot. The whole area was shrouded in an unnatural silence. 

"Where did these killers even come from?" they pondered as they scribbled down notes for their articles. But when they returned to their newsrooms, the headlines would read, "New York Police Capture Gangsters at the Continental Hotel," completely unaware of the true story that lay behind those walls.

Meanwhile, the police were equally stunned as they stepped inside the Continental Hotel. Bodies of fallen killers littered the ground, and the sheer amount of equipment scattered around spoke of a fight that would have required far more firepower than they were used to handling. 

They knew, deep down, that this wasn't a typical gang skirmish—if a real battle had ensued, it might have taken the National Guard to restore order.

"Where does this fierce man come from?" one officer wondered aloud as he recalled seeing Anton—the man dressed as Batman—engaging with the criminals.

As word spread, the situation escalated quickly, prompting a direct call from City Hall to the police department. 

Police Chief George Stacey, who had already left for the night, was summoned back to the Continental Hotel. As a seasoned officer, he was well aware of the hotel's reputation, having dealt with its underworld connections many times before. 

Normally, he wouldn't have intervened; the underground had its own way of handling its affairs.

However, George wasn't naïve. He had the wisdom to understand that certain situations required careful handling. 

He believed that magic had to be met with magic, and that a figure like Batman, who was willing to dip into the filth of the underworld, would only create more problems in the long run.

"Batman..." George muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as he contemplated the situation. The law and order in New York had already been precarious, and complaints against the police department were piling up. 

Now, the emergence of a vigilante character like Batman made things infinitely more complicated.

"Go find out the true identity of Batman," George instructed his officers. "Also, prepare a report for City Hall. We can't afford to take credit for this."

"Understood, Chief. Don't worry. I'm the best at writing reports," one officer reassured him with a slap on his chest, though the tension in the air suggested otherwise.

As the officers moved about, an elderly figure with a haggard face emerged from the Continental Hotel. George squinted at the familiar visage. "Mr. Winston," he greeted, a forced smile plastered on his face. 

"With such a serious gang fight happening here, it's good to see you're alright amidst the chaos."

Winston's expression darkened as he processed the reality of the situation. The hotel, once a beacon of his success, was now surrounded by police, its reputation tarnished. 

He glanced at the prison vans outside, his heart aching at the sight. Years of hard work and dedication were being dismantled right before his eyes.

"Chief George, I have something important to report," Winston said, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself for what was to come.

"I want to report!" he announced confidently, projecting his voice for the reporters to hear. "These people are sent by the Life Foundation! Those San Francisco thugs are trying to ruin my hotel!"

George's eyes widened in shock, unable to mask his surprise. He hadn't expected to hear such accusations. 

The Life Foundation? How could a group from San Francisco come all the way to New York to stir trouble? Surely, the New York Police Department wasn't that naive.

"You think they sent these thugs?" George's incredulity bubbled to the surface, but he had to maintain his composure in front of the cameras. 

He forced out a righteous smile, suppressing his anger. "You said it, I will seek justice for you."

Winston's demeanor shifted, adopting a more calculating expression. 

"The Life Foundation and the Continental Hotel have no prior grievances; they're seeking revenge for the Daily Bugle incident," he explained, his tone laced with conviction as he spoke to the reporters. "Everyone knows what transpired, and they're using my hotel as a pawn in their game."

"Why target the Continental Hotel?" George interjected, genuinely perplexed.

"You'll have to ask the Life Foundation," Winston replied, his voice steady as he redirected the question. "I don't need to lie on this issue. In short, the Life Foundation is the true culprit!"

George was left dumbfounded, torn between disbelief and the realization that Winston's claims might hold some truth. However, something felt off. 

If it was indeed the Life Foundation, why were they targeting him? And why did Winston seem to hold no animosity toward Batman, a figure who had just dismantled a significant portion of his organization?

Just then, a gust of wind swept through the area, drawing everyone's attention upward.

"Look!" a voice cried out in astonishment, pointing toward the top floor of the Continental Hotel. "What is that?"

…

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