Win_Praise

I died. No idea how. No idea why.

All I know is that I woke up in a tailored black suit… with blood on my hands, a Glock in my grip, and a room full of bodies around me.

And every last one of them?

They thought I was John Wick.

Problem is — I’m not.
Not really. I can’t even aim right.

But the system doesn’t care.

> “Survive 24 Hours: Reward – Gun Kata (Lv.1)”
“Kill 3 Enemies Without Reloading: Reward – Reflex Upgrade (Tier 2)”
“Pet a Dog: +10 Charisma”



This world? It’s not a movie.
The blood’s real. The pain’s worse.
And the myth I’ve become?
It’s hunted.

I have 24 hours to survive my first day as the Baba Yaga.
If the bullets don’t get me, the legends will.
But if I make it long enough to level up…
Then maybe — just maybe — I’ll become the man they think I am.

Wick'd: Reincarnated into the Deadliest Action Movie Ever Made

LOCATION: SYSTEM ARENA — ENTRY HUB: THE CONTINENTAL

Red carpets. Dark wood walls. Warm lighting that looked like class and danger had a baby. Everyone wore tailored suits. People moved like ghosts—silent, sharp, stylish.

Marcus walked in like it was his living room.

"No way…" I muttered. "No actual way."

I turned to Marcus, eyes wide. "Is this—? Are we really at The Continental?"

I nearly sprinted to catch up. "THE Continental? As in, John Wick's Continental? The neutral ground for assassins? The murder Hilton?"

"And you're telling me I'm standing where Wick stood? That chandelier is where Cassian flipped a guy over the railing!"

Marcus glanced at me. "You done nerding out?"

We passed the main lobby counter. The man behind it had a perfect suit, gloves, and the kind of calm that says I can and will call someone to kill you politely.

"Welcome to the Continental," he said with a nod.

I nodded back like I wasn't dying inside.

Holy crap. I was in the movie. In the system. Inside the Continental. This wasn't just fan service anymore—this was my life.

We passed a few people lounging on velvet chairs with whiskey glasses. Every one of them looked like they could kill me with a paperclip.

One woman smiled at me. Then flipped a butterfly knife in one hand like it was nothing.

Whispered to Marcus, "So… no one's shooting here, right?"

He smirked. "Neutral ground. No bloodshed on Continental property. Break that rule, you get erased. Instantly."

"Cool. Cool cool cool. Just checking."

Marcus led me down a hallway into a side lounge. Still classy. Still dangerous.

He didn't sit. Just turned and looked at me.

I shrugged. "To geek out? Maybe grab a drink and a silencer?"

"You're here," Marcus said, "because this place is the line between who you were… and who you're becoming."

He nodded. "The system didn't just copy a movie. It's building a myth. And it chose you."

"I mean, I've seen the films. Baba Yaga was never real. It was a rep, a title. A story people were afraid of."

"Exactly. And now you're the story."

"Is this some deep metaphor or am I literally turning into John Wick?"

He held up a sleek black card—Continental access, laced in gold.

He dropped it on the table in front of me.

I picked it up. "Someone like who?"

"The one who keeps the rules. The man who makes sure the story doesn't fall apart."

He opened the door, then looked back.