Billionaire in Kingsman with a Marvel System

After hanging up the phone with McCall, William couldn't help but think that although McCall had a strong sense of justice, deep down, he was not so different from Yuri Orlov, the so-called "War Lord." Both men couldn't let go of what they excelled at.

A sense of accomplishment is incredibly important to a person. It shapes their attitude towards life and work.

Yuri realized that apart from dealing arms, he wasn't particularly good at anything else. He retired for a while for the sake of his wife and children, but eventually, he couldn't resist the pull and returned to his old trade, selling weapons again. McCall, on the other hand, became disillusioned and retired after his wife's unexpected death, faking his death to escape his old life. But in retirement, without love or family, the mundanity of life left him feeling lost and bored. When he saw Alina's tragic situation, that restless part of him found the excuse it needed to act.

Doing good, particularly when it involves justice, would give McCall, someone used to living on the edge of life and death, the perfect reason to get involved. He likely thought, *I'm killing scum—people who've escaped the law. If the law can't punish them, then I will.*

So, the next night, when he met John Wick, McCall simply smiled and said, "Keep an eye on the ground floor for me. If I get exposed, I'll need you to cover me. I can handle everything upstairs on my own."

"No problem," John Wick nodded, handing McCall a pair of black-framed glasses with a built-in camera and a phone. "Mr. Devonshire asked me to give you these. The glasses have a recording function—Mr. Devonshire wants to see how you handle this."

McCall chuckled, understanding what William meant. This was a test of his skills before officially joining William's employ. He put on the glasses and found they fit him perfectly. "It seems you've done your homework. The fit is just right."

"As long as you understand," John Wick replied. "Remember to turn on the phone before you start."

With that, John Wick straightened his well-tailored suit, slicked back his shiny hair, and calmly walked into a nearby Russian restaurant.

Once inside, John Wick scanned the area and chose a seat in a spot where the security cameras couldn't see him. He ordered in perfect Russian: chicken Kiev, caviar, Russian borscht, traditional blini, chocolate parfait, and a glass of vodka.

About ten minutes later, as his food was being served, John Wick noticed McCall, dressed in plain clothes and a baseball cap, enter the restaurant. Keeping his head down, McCall took advantage of the busy dinner rush to slip upstairs without attracting the servers' attention.

As John Wick enjoyed his meal, William, who was lounging on a hotel sofa sipping whiskey, received updates from Sunday on McCall's progress. John Wick put on his glasses, and William, curious, turned on the television and asked Sunday to stream the video so he could watch McCall's performance.

McCall, having done his homework, went straight upstairs and knocked on the door of Slavy's office, the man in charge of the gang's operations. Without waiting for a response, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Upon entering, McCall quickly took in the scene. A thug wearing shiny gold shoes sat on a sofa two meters to the right of the door. Three more thugs were gathered around a small bar in the room, drinking and chatting. Slavy, the leader, was sitting behind a desk, sipping vodka.

As Slavy noticed McCall entering, he frowned and asked, "Are you lost, old man?"

"How did you get up here?" asked a long-haired thug, stepping forward to block McCall's path. "Want me to throw him out?"

McCall pulled out a business card from his pocket, showing it to Slavy. The card's distinct image of a woman let Slavy know that this was one of the cards they handed out to attract clients. He assumed McCall was just another customer looking for some fun.

Slavy laughed and waved the long-haired thug away. "No need."

McCall walked up to the desk and placed the card on it. "I'm here for a girl named Alina."

Slavy, still holding his vodka glass, spread his hand dismissively and sneered, "Sorry, I have too many girls under my command to remember one named Alina. Maybe after you see her, you can take a picture and show it to me. That way, I'll know who was good enough to enchant an old geezer like you. Hell, maybe I'll even give her more work as a reward."

The room erupted in laughter from Slavy's four thugs.

McCall's face darkened as he stared at the long-haired thug and Slavy, whose faces were filled with apathy, indifference, and mockery. A wave of nausea and anger welled up inside him. But he knew that attacking in such a public place was risky, so he forced himself to stay calm and said, "Perhaps I could buy Alina's freedom. I can pay in cash. What do you say?"

"Ha!" Slavy sneered. "You think you can insult me like that? Even if I had to kill her, I wouldn't sell one of our Russian beauties to an American."

Slavy eyed McCall's worn-out clothes with disdain. "Besides, look at what you're wearing. I don't believe you have enough money to buy Alina. She's underage, you know. Lots of American perverts would pay top dollar for just one night with her. She's a money tree—a long-term investment."

As Slavy's gaze bore into McCall, he noticed that instead of the expected anger or fear, McCall's eyes reflected only calm indifference. This unnerved Slavy, making him suspicious. To provoke McCall further, Slavy continued, "Even an old man like you wants to buy Alina. She must be worth a fortune. Hey, I'm thinking of selling her as a virgin at an underground auction. Do you know how much she'd go for?"

The words "underage" and "sell" were the final straw for McCall. The urge to kill everyone in the room surged within him, and he could barely contain it. He even felt that every breath these scumbags took was polluting the world. Sending them to hell was the only fitting end for such filth. If souls were real, McCall would have torn theirs apart with his bare hands.

But McCall wasn't a novice. The decision to act only made him more focused, his mind sharpening with a familiar, exhilarating clarity. He realized that standing in the middle of the room, with the most dangerous gunman five or six meters behind him, wasn't the best position to start a fight. He wouldn't be able to take out the shooter immediately.

With that in mind, McCall suppressed his rising aggression. He blinked his eyes and forced his face into an expression of fear and helplessness, his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he looked at Slavy.

Seeing the fear in McCall's eyes, Slavy was pleased. He relaxed and smirked, his suspicion dissipating. Having been fooled by McCall's seemingly meek appearance, Slavy quickly lost interest in toying with this poor, scared old man.

"Get lost. Talking to a worm like you is a waste of my time and breath," Slavy barked.

McCall nodded calmly and retreated to the door. Inside, the desire to kill these five scumbags was now overwhelming. He knew that if he didn't take them out, he would never be able to live with himself again.

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