Agent 47 X Everything

Location: Safehouse, Undisclosed Sector, cairo— 3:11 AMThe streets were quiet. Not in the peaceful kind of way, but the kind that hums with unspoken danger. The kind of silence only killers understand.

Inside the safehouse's armory-lit chamber, tungsten lights hummed overhead, illuminating rows of handguns, rifles, armor plating, blades, and gear both exotic and deadly.

Agent 47 stood before a polished mirror. His black suit pristine, white shirt crisp as winter, red tie centered and sharp. His long black coat lay folded on a nearby bench, waiting. The silverballers gleamed on the table under the white light, surrounded by neatly arranged magazines and suppressors. Calmly, he holstered them on either side of his waist with a precision that felt ritualistic.

Across the room, John Wick clicked in the final buckle of his iconic suit. Sleek. Practical. All-black ensemble. His tie tight, shirt sealed to the neck, bulletproof lining underneath. His presence felt like a tightly coiled spring—tense, calculating, ready to kill.

Wick walked up, eyes narrowing as he observed the silverballers.

"Those custom?" he asked, voice gravel and steel.

47 didn't look up. "Mine."

Wick nodded. "Figures."

47's eyes flickered to his system window, invisible to the world, glaring in spectral blue.

[NEXUS SYSTEM]

STATUS WINDOW – Agent 47

Class: Apex Executioner

Title(s): King of Assassins, Death Incarnate, King of Curses

Legendary Perks:• Matter Creation (Active)• Adaptive Instinct (Passive)• King of Curses (Passive – Enhanced): +200% stats against curses and non-human entities• Mental Fortress (Passive)• Thronebreaker (Active)

New Resource – CP (Currency Points): 90,000

A new interdimensional shop will unlock in the fourth universe.

He narrowed his eyes.

"The Shop will open in the next world… A currency for killing."

The world was shifting. But there was still unfinished business here.

Wick zipped his jacket, then turned to 47. "The meeting. Secret High Table convergence. Off-books. Somewhere no blood is supposed to be spilled."

47 slid on his coat, the long black fabric falling like a cloak of judgment.

"You expect that to be honored?" he asked flatly.

Wick chuckled. "No. That's why we're going."

They both turned toward the weapons rack. Wick took a pair of handguns, loaded them with a practiced slide-click rhythm, then secured an automatic on his back holster. 47 crafted two throwing knives with a glimmer of matter manipulation, tucking them into his inner coat sleeves.

"You fight like a ghost," Wick muttered. "No wasted motion."

"You hesitate," 47 responded, calm and analytical. "You think in emotion. That's inefficient."

Wick gave him a sidelong glance. "And yet, here we are—both alive."

Before either could continue, a whisper echoed in 47's mind, like a blade brushing along the edge of his thoughts.

"So this is your next… plan?"The voice coiled around him like black smoke.

Sukuna.

47 didn't respond aloud. His thoughts remained guarded.

"You have all twenty fingers now," Sukuna said with serpentine delight. "I could manifest. Tear apart this universe. Crush this… High Table."

"No," 47 thought. "You are not in control."

"You'll need me eventually."

47 ignored him.

The rain had started. Gentle drops tapping against the black SUV parked outside like the ticking of a countdown. Wick checked his watch.

"Time's up."

47 stepped out into the rain beside him.

Both killers stood still for a moment—two wolves, cloaked in shadow and dressed for war.

"You don't talk much," Wick said.

"I talk when it matters," 47 replied.

Without another word, they stepped inside the car. The doors closed like the sealing of a tomb.