114: Chapter 114 Saving Private Shuichi Akai

The morning mist, like a layer of gray gauze, shrouded the highway on the outskirts of New York.

Three black Chevrolet Suburban SUVs advanced in a triangular formation, with a specially armored prison transport vehicle in the center.

The wheels rolled over the wet road, splashing fine droplets of water, and the roar of engines echoed across the empty highway.

On the roofs, SWAT team members held M4 carbines, fingers on the triggers, vigilantly scanning the woods on both sides—their orders were to "escort the prisoner, Akai Shuichi, to Black Prison safely at all costs."

Inside the prison transport, Akai Shuichi leaned against the cold iron bars, closing his eyes to rest.

Shackles firmly locked his wrists and ankles, the sound of metal rubbing against metal monotonous and grating.

He could hear the static from the SWAT team members' walkie-talkies outside the vehicle, and he could almost smell the scent of gunpowder permeating the air.

Akai Shuichi knew that the so-called "Black Prison" was nothing more than a front.

These people had transported him from the federal prison only to hand him over to those powerful figures.

They intended to use his life to blackmail his mother into appearing; after all, everyone knew what a child meant to a mother.

Akai Shuichi also understood that what those Zaibatsu wanted was his mother's whereabouts, and once his mother truly stepped forward because of him...

...then Akai Shuichi's fate would likely still be death, as a dead person is far better at keeping secrets than a living one.

Akai Shuichi even estimated that he might be treated as a lab rat for those laboratories; after all, his mother, Akai Mary, had regained her youth, and as Akai Mary's son, he naturally held a certain research value.

Suddenly, the lead SUV in the convoy braked hard, its tires screeching sharply against the pavement.

"We have a situation!" the captain's roar came over the radio.

Akai Shuichi snapped his eyes open and looked out through the narrow observation window of the prison transport—a modified Harley-Davidson motorcycle was following behind the convoy, trying to overtake it at high speed.

The man riding the bike wore black motorcycle gear, his helmet pulled low, revealing only his tightly pursed lips and his knuckles gripping the handlebars.

"Get away! Or we'll open fire!"

The SWAT captain shouted through a megaphone, simultaneously signaling the two SUVs to spread out to the sides, forming a pincer movement.

The man on the motorcycle did not move.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes beneath the helmet as cold as ice, and pulled an MP5 submachine gun from behind him, opening fire on the tires of the moving convoy.

Soon, the tires of the escort vehicles were shot out, forcing them to stop. Seeing this, the SWAT captain in the specialized prison transport did not stop, but instead ordered the transport to accelerate and leave.

John Wick did not stop his motorcycle either, continuing to accelerate and follow behind the prison transport.

Soon, the motorcycle caught up to the prison transport, and John Wick pulled a specialized launcher from his lower back, which was loaded with two custom bombs.

Bang! Bang!

With two crisp sounds, the two bombs successfully stuck to both sides of the prison transport's engine, and then John Wick pressed the button in his hand.

Sss... Sss~ Sss!

Immediately after, the engine of the prison transport stopped running, and the entire vehicle came to a halt.

"Open fire!"

Seeing this, the captain of the escort team immediately ordered them to open fire.

As the captain gave the order, a dense volley of gunfire instantly tore through the morning mist.

Bullets whistled toward the motorcycle, but the man dodged them with precision—like a streak of black lightning, he leaped from the bike, and the moment he landed, he drew two Beretta 92F pistols, their muzzles spitting deadly tongues of fire.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two gunshots rang out, and the tires of the last remaining SUV rushing over were blown out; the vehicle instantly lost control and crashed into the guardrail on the side of the road.

Following that, the man rolled to take cover behind the vehicle, evading gunfire from the right, while simultaneously firing two shots back, accurately striking the throats of the SWAT team members on the roof.

His movements were as fast as the wind, without a hint of unnecessary flair, and every bullet was aimed straight at a vital point.

Akai Shuichi's pupils constricted in the prison transport—this marksmanship, this movement, was absolutely the level of a top-tier assassin. He hadn't expected the man he had inadvertently met to be even more powerful than before.

Just as he was deep in thought, the roar of motorcycle engines suddenly erupted from the woods on both sides of the highway.

Seven or eight dirt bikes charged out of the woods, the riders wearing skull masks, holding assault rifles and shotguns, rushing frantically toward the convoy.

"It's a trap!"

The SWAT captain roared, but a bullet fired from behind him pierced his temple, and his body slumped limply onto the roof of the vehicle.

Chaos erupted instantly.

The Harley rider (John Wick) flashed out from behind the vehicle, firing his dual pistols alternately, each pull of the trigger accompanied by a scream.

His footwork was extremely precise; he could always dodge behind cover a split second before the bullets arrived, and then counterattack with even greater speed.

Those riders wearing skull masks were clearly there to disrupt the situation; they crashed and fired recklessly, completely throwing the SWAT team's formation into disarray.

After disrupting the SWAT team's formation, these SWAT members were quickly picked off and killed one by one by John Wick.

Subsequently, these riders in skull masks didn't even stop, continuing to drive forward.

John Wick stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked to the back of the prison transport with steady steps.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

He fired three shots in succession at the latch of the prison transport's rear door. The thick steel plate was punched through, and the lock cylinder shattered.

"Akai Shuichi?"

John Wick pulled open the door of the prison transport, his voice coming through the helmet's microphone with a metallic quality.

Akai Shuichi looked at him without speaking, simply nodding.

John Wick raised his hand and smashed the butt of his gun against the lock cylinder of Akai Shuichi's shackles.

With a "clang," the shackles on his wrists snapped open. Just as he was preparing to smash the shackles on his ankles, he suddenly rolled to the side—

"Bang!"

A bullet grazed his shoulder and struck the iron bars of the prison transport, sending out a shower of sparks.

John Wick turned instantly, his dual pistols aimed in the direction the bullet had come from.

At the other end of the highway, a middle-aged man wearing a tactical vest was holding a Remington 700 sniper rifle, the muzzle emitting wisps of smoke.

His hair was somewhat gray, and his face was etched with the marks of time, but his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, bearing a striking resemblance to Akai Shuichi's.

"Put down your gun."

The middle-aged man's voice was low and powerful, carrying an unquestionable authority.

John Wick did not move, his muzzle still fixed firmly on the other man:

"Someone from the High Table?"

"No, not at all."

The middle-aged man slowly lowered the sniper rifle but did not put it away, simply looking at him: "I'm just here to save Akai Shuichi."

"So am I."

John Wick's voice turned cold, "It seems we have the same goal."

"Not necessarily."

The middle-aged man walked to the side of the prison transport, his gaze falling on Akai Shuichi, his eyes complex.

Seeing this, John Wick stopped talking nonsense, keeping an eye on the middle-aged man while quickly helping Akai Shuichi open his shackles one by one.

The middle-aged man did not stop him, just standing quietly to the side like a silent statue.

His hand never left the grip of his gun, clearly maintaining a high level of vigilance against John Wick.

John Wick quickly smashed open the shackles on Akai Shuichi's ankles with clean, efficient movements.

Akai Shuichi stood up, working his numb hands and feet. He looked at the middle-aged man's back, and his heart pounded uncontrollably—that profile, that stance, even the way he held the gun, all overlapped with the person deep in his memories.

"You..."

Akai Shuichi's voice was raspy and unrecognizable, almost breaking through his throat.

The middle-aged man slowly turned around, looking at him, a complex smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Long time no see, Shuichi."

"Dad... Daddy?"

Akai Shuichi could hardly believe his ears. The man before him was actually his father, who had been declared "dead in an assassination by the Black Organization" twenty years ago—Akai Tsutomu!

He remembered that day, his mother holding him; although she didn't cry, he clearly remembered that there wasn't a trace of human emotion left on his mother's cold face;

he remembered that at the funeral, there was only an empty urn; he remembered that from that day on, the name "Akai Tsutomu" became a taboo in the family. But now, this person who should have long been dead was standing alive before him!

John Wick watched this scene, frowned, and put away his gun:

"It seems you know each other. My mission is complete." He nodded at Akai Shuichi. He turned to leave but was called out by Akai Tsutomu.

"Wait."

Akai Tsutomu looked at him, "You are John Wick? The 'Boogeyman'?"

John Wick paused, not looking back: "What if I am?"

"The High Table has been investigating you lately."

Akai Tsutomu's voice was low,

"According to them, John Wick, you violated the blood oath and even fired a gun to kill inside The Continental Hotel."

"As far as I know, The Continental Hotel has already issued a global bounty on you."

John Wick's back stiffened for a moment, then he snorted coldly: "Let them try."

He mounted the Harley parked on the side of the road, the engine roaring, and soon disappeared at the end of the highway.

Only the Akai father and son remained on the highway, along with the carnage scattered all over.

"You... where have you been all these years?"

Akai Shuichi finally found his voice, his eyes slightly reddened.

Akai Tsutomu sighed, walked up to him, and patted his shoulder:

"It's a long story. Back then, I discovered that the Black Organization's waters ran deeper than I imagined; they had Zaibatsu backing them, and I couldn't fight them alone. To protect you all, I had to fake my death to escape and go into hiding to investigate them."

He pointed to the special emblem on his tactical vest:

"This organization is called 'Nightingale'; I founded it over these years by uniting some people who were persecuted by the Black Organization. We have been secretly gathering evidence of their crimes, and only yesterday did we find out your specific whereabouts."

Akai Shuichi finally understood why his father appeared here. It turned out he had never given up on his family, just protected them in another way.

"Mother and Masumi..." Akai Shuichi asked anxiously.

"I know their situation."

Akai Tsutomu's eyes darkened,

"The matter of Mary shrinking has reached the ears of the American Zaibatsu. Those old guys, Morgan and Rockefeller, are crazy for longevity. The reason I risked appearing is to tell you—they are in great danger now."

He took a satellite phone and a P226 pistol from his backpack and handed them to Akai Shuichi: "This is an encrypted phone; only I know the number. Take the gun for self-defense."

"Where are you going?" Akai Shuichi asked, taking the phone and the gun.

"I'm going to draw their attention away."

Akai Tsutomu's eyes were firm, "The people from 'Nightingale' will cooperate with you to move Mary and Masumi to a safe place. Remember, don't trust anyone, including people inside the FBI—the director has already been bought off by the Zaibatsu."

Akai Shuichi nodded, watching his father turn to leave, and suddenly called out: "Dad!"

Akai Tsutomu stopped and looked back at him.

"Be careful."

Akai Tsutomu smiled, a smile that carried a hint of relief and gratification: "You too."

He turned and walked into the woods, his figure soon disappearing into the morning mist.

Akai Shuichi stood in place, gripping the gun in his hand. Sunlight finally pierced through the mist, spilling onto the highway and illuminating the shell casings and bloodstains scattered everywhere.

He knew that from this moment on, his family would not only be facing the Black Organization but the entire American Zaibatsu system.

But he was no longer fighting alone.

His father was still alive, James and Jodie were helping from the shadows... They were like sparks scattered in the darkness, though faint, enough to ignite a prairie fire.

Akai Shuichi took a deep breath and walked in the opposite direction of his father. His steps were firm, each one treading on the boundary between sunlight and shadow.

This battle across the ocean had only just begun. And he must win.