Fictional Faceoff: John Wick vs Agent 47

This is a transcript from an episode of my podcast, From the Mind of Maro. Part of the "Fictional Faceoff" series, where characters from across all media battle for supremacy. To be honest, I don't exactly consider this one to be my best work, but we all can always use improvement, right? If you enjoy this story, feel free to check out my podcast itself for more, available on Spotify, Itunes, Iheart and Spreaker.


As the private jet flew through the skies above New York City, a barely visible dot above the city’s dazzling skyline, it's only passenger sat in silence, contemplating his next assignment. He was dressed in a fancy dark suit with a blood red tie, a blank, emotionless expression on his face as he opened a laptop emblazoned with the International Contract Agency logo.

“Good evening, 47.” Came the voice of his handler, Diana. “Your target is Jonathan Wick, also known amongst his colleagues as “The Boogeyman.”

“They call him the Boogeyman?” 47 asked. “Well, he’s not exactly the Boogeyman per se. He’s the one you would send to kill the Boogeyman, more like. You may have heard of him before, in fact. Mr. Wick is as legendary as yourself in the world of international assassins. Until rather recently, he was a member of an organization known as The Continental, a separate league of assassins from the ICA. As it turns out, Mr. Wick has been declared ExCommunicado by the Continental for breaking its rules and now has a fifteen million dollar price on his head.”

47 nodded, intrigued. Diana continued. “The Continental has sent every available assassin in New York to eliminate Wick. None have succeeded. So they’ve decided to, for lack of a better word, outsource this job to the ICA. Which is why you have been assigned to this particular contract, as the best agent of the ICA, if anyone has any hope of eliminating Mr. Wick, it’s you, 47. I will leave you to prepare.”

John Wick didn’t know how much longer he could keep going. It hadn’t even been a full day since he was officially expelled from the Continental, and already he must have killed at least three dozen other assassins looking to claim the enormous bounty placed on him. Despite his ludicrous skill at his old profession, even he had his limits. He was currently hunched over as he leaned up against the corner of an alley wall, trying desperately to catch his breath as it began to rain.

The next thing he knew, there was a wire around his neck, and he was being strangled from behind by an unseen assailant. He struggled for a moment before elbowing his attacker in the stomach, forcing them to release their grip on his throat. John spun around to see a tall, bald man dressed in a fancy black suit behind him, reaching into his coat to retrieve another weapon.

Not allowing him the chance, John rushed forward, grabbing the man’s wrist just as he pulled out a silenced pistol. John twisted his attacker’s arm, forcing him to drop the gun before delivering a hard punch to the man’s face. Agent 47 found himself surprised as he staggered backwards. None of his targets had ever put up a fight like this before. Still, he had somewhat expected this might happen and unsheathed a knife from inside his sleeve.

47 slashed and stabbed at John, but each attack was either blocked or dodged. As 47 brought the knife down for another stabbing attack, John managed to catch his wrist in mid stab, before disarming him and turning the tables, now attacking 47 with his own weapon.

As 47 was dodging and defending against Wick’s attacks, he couldn’t help but admire his opponent’s skill and determination. It seemed like he had met his match, 47 thought. For several moments, it looked as though neither assassin could gain the upper hand over the other, as they struggled and dodged each other’s attacks.

John swept 47’s legs out from under him, sending him falling to the ground. John prepared to deal the finishing blow, but 47 had fallen directly beside the pistol Wick had knocked from his hand at the start of the fight. Wasting no time, 47 grabbed it, aimed and emptied the clip into John’s torso, sending him staggering backwards several steps before collapsing on the alleyway floor.

47 took a moment to catch his breath before getting to his feet. “Freeze!” Shouted a police officer that had been passing by the alley just in time to see 47 shoot John. “Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!” The cop ordered.

47 did so, slowly turning to face the officer, before disarming him and knocking him unconscious with a blow to the head. Retrieving his weapon, 47 turned to see that Wick was gone! How he could have survived a full clip being emptied into his body, 47 had no clue. But even so, he couldn’t leave the contract unfulfilled.

John had managed to slip away as his latest assailant was distracted. Luckily, he was still wearing his bulletproof suit. Still, he had no doubt that whoever the bald man had been, he wasn’t going to give up so easily. John slipped through a back alleyway door, which turned out to lead into a rave club. With the loud, pounding music, flashing lights, and large crowd of people, John figured it would be rather difficult for anyone to find him here.

That last encounter had left his body exhausted. He needed to rest. Making his way through the crowd, he took a seat in a corner booth, so no one could sneak up on him, and tried to think of a plan to get himself reinstated into the Continental. There had to be some way to make the attempts on his life stop.

After about ten minutes, a waitress approached him and placed a glass in front of him. “Compliments of the house.” She said. John thanked her, but didn’t drink it. This was too suspicious. He inhaled the drink’s aroma of fruit and spice, but there was something else mixed with it. The underlying scent of almonds.

Just as he thought. Cyanide. This drink was poisoned, which meant someone here was trying to kill him too. Probably the same assassin from the alley, he thought. He looked towards the bar, and sure enough, there was the bald man, dressed in a bartender’s outfit and mixing drinks.

John couldn’t help but lightly chuckle to himself. A man of many talents, this assassin was. He wrote something down on a napkin and asked another passing waitress to deliver it to the bartender.

As 47 was serving another cocktail, a waitress handed him a napkin. “From the guy at table 12.” He opened to see the words “Meet me on the roof.” scribbled on the napkin. He looked to see Wick was no longer at his table. Making his way to a backroom staircase, he met his target on the roof of the club. “I can see you’re good at this job.” John said. “Very good, just like me.” 47 nodded. “Likewise. I want you to know, I have great respect for you as a professional. But as a professional, you understand that I can’t just walk away from a contract, right?”

“Indeed.” John said. “Shall we, then?” The both of them got into a fighting stance. This would be settled the old-fashioned way, hand to hand. Charging forward, the two legendary assassins duked it out, matching and countering each other blow for blow. But as they fought, John was slowly driving 47 back towards the edge of the roof, with 47 seemingly too focused on the fight to take notice.

With a spinning roundhouse kick, John sent 47 backwards over the edge of the roof, falling multiple stories, only to land in an open alleyway dumpster. 47 looked up from his landing spot to see Wick looking down at him from the edge of the roof, before backing away and disappearing to continue his life on the run.

47, despite his failure to finish a contract for the first time in his career, couldn't help but smirk. “47?” Diana's voice came over his earpiece. “Are you there? Has the target been eliminated?” “Target has escaped.” 47 replied. “He got away, Diana. For now.”