he wants out.
there's one person who can.
fox told you about your father? wesley looks from sloan to fox to the butcher and back to sloan.
when? they look at him, imploringly, waiting for an answer.
shoot the wings off the flies.
you have three seconds. three.  two.  before he can say one, wesley reacts.  blindly firing the pistol in his hand, indiscriminately, b,am! bam! bam! bam! click. click. click.  until his finger is just jamming on the trigger over and over. after a moment, he looks up, unsure why he isn't dead.
and after we fine tune those skills.  his eyes lock on to wesley's, holding them in a vice-like grip.
you're going to hunt the man who killed your father. wesley is as stunned as we've ever seen him.  he blinks a couple of times.
walk with me. he drapes his arm around wesley and leads him out the door.
i know thin is hard for you to understand, wesley, but i want you to concentrate on what i'm saying. your father was a member of the fraternity, a collection of the most powerful assassins the world has ever known. they weave against the flow of pedestrians out and about on the city streets. instinctively, people step out of their way.
we don't advertise wesley. we blend into the environment like moths against a tree.
because the easiest place to hide is in plain sight.  .until it finds a gun salesman holding out a weapon to an italian customer. he also has the tattoo. he's the
until that time when we are called into action.
we have been active for centuries, wesley.  outlasting rulers, governments, nations, kings. we recognize no borders; the entire globe is our killing field. they are buzzed through by the pharmacist, and enter.
we are the baddest of the bad, the three- headed dog that guards the gates of hell. we show no mercy, we destroy the weak, we have absolute power.
this man left the fraternity and decided to strike down those who had befriended him, trained him, made him who he is.
your father was like a brother to me.
so wesley.  you have a choice. would you like to go back to your job, your girlfriend, your life, just as it was before?
if the answer is the latter, then have a seat in that chair.
selecting your weapon and then disposing of it is the most pivotal aspect of every assassination. an array of firearms are on a shelf next to wesley.
pick one. wesley eyes all the weaponry. finally, he settles on a short-barreled black handgun. sloan takes it from him and inspects it.
excellent. this is an imanishi 18. it holds seventeen bullets in the clip and one in the chamber. it's made of a composite material unrecognizable by metal detectors.
and the imanishi's bullets have microchips that communicate with similar ones in the gun.
how'd you do in physics class?
why?
that's it. rules. what if i told you there weren't any? he nods at wesley, like he's on to something.
people live by the rules set before them. we take them on faith that they are right. but how many times in your life have you thought you had a better way, against-the rules that was simply laughed at.
because you use your brain differently than other people. all fraternity members do.
humans use neurons to think. but most people can only handle a small percentage of those neurons firing at once without suffering a seizure or an aneurism. not us. and not you. we have the ability to think differently than other people.
that's right. sloan hands him back the weapon.
have you ever shot a gun before?
so you have no pre-conceived habits we need to break. shoot the target. don't hit mom.
this isn't about "how." it's about "what." if you'd never been told a bullet flies straight and i handed you this and said hit that target.  what would you do? allow your instincts to guide you. just like the flies.
the technology is only here to assist your natural instinct. wesley lifts the gun, his mind racing.
it's not 'will' that makes the physical react how we wish, it's 'control.' you are in control.
rules are made to be broken, wesley. no one was better at that than your father. he had a pair of pearl-handled revolvers with which he could conduct a symphony. l i wesley nods proudly, and squeezes off some more shots, all chasing through the same hole in the target.
watch the eyes. look for a slight swelling of the pupil. you can train your body to stay a constant temperature, you can control your heartbeat, but you can't control the center of your eyes. that's how you know when someone is lying to you. sloan looks right at him. wesley narrows his eyes, trying to fend off his stare.
do you want to fuck fox?
i know that's a lie without even seeing your eyes.
okay. what are you hiding from me? wesley looks down, then focuses on sloan.
what's this?
yes?
you put this all together on your own? wesley taps his head.
don't know. but whoever has them isn't long for this place. sloan reaches down and picks up a binder which he drops on the desk.
cross. the details of his life. q continue your hunt.
no rules.
we keep a record of every assassination mission, going back to the ides of march. maps, diagrams, logistics, complications, weapons of choice.  it's all there. wesley nods, impressed. sloan just keeps leading him through a set of double doors, into.
where we plot our local hits. this city is one of the fraternity's major headquarters.
part of mastering technology is knowing when to use it. models can't be hacked. your father built this room himself. most of the buildings are white, but interspersed amongst them are a few vainted red. some of the model street lamps are also red.
the fraternity's grasp reaches every facet of the world's major cities, including their construction. look at this streetlight. wesley peers at it.  there is a plaque affixed to the pole.  the standard thing you find on these things.  "municipal c. w. 63070." but then there is something different on this one.  a tiny symbol on the bottom of the plaque.  the cerberus instead of the seal of the cit sloan presses the symbol and the plaque slides aside, revealing a hollow space behind it. he reaches his hand inside and pulls out a small handgun.  flips out the clip expertly, then racks the weapon. wesley can't believe it.
everywhere.
keep moving, fellas. they nod and do just that.
they let us do our jobs, we let them live. the camera pushes in on wesley's face as he realizes the full scope of this organization and we.
our job isn't just about how fast or true you shoot, wesley. physical agility will always lose to mental agility. it's warfare of the mind. fo 's apart. wesley looking at fox through the bedroom door. slaughterhouse. wesley working with the butcher on the art of knife play. map room. the gardener and fox show wesley the rooftop of a certain building on the model city, one corner of the roof painted red. rooftop. fox and the gardener now with wesley on that actual rooftop, pointing out firing angles, modes. of ascension, and escape routes. the gardener moves over to a cornerstone in the roof of the building and then easily lifts it off, revealing a stash of assault rifles. k shooting g . wesley looking at some ammunition while the gunsmith talks and demonstrates. he fires at one of the targets, which explodes in a splattered mess and we cut to.
pick the weapon, make the kill, destroy the weapon. no other rules. wesley nods as gunsmith returns.
there are limits to everything, wesley. at some point the body becomes a shield. wesley pulls his gun and lets loose five rounds, lightning fast. the gunsmith brings the target back to them.  . a the business man is riddled with es.
he's ready. the los2k on fox's face becomes more and more and sexual until.
the mole bullet is made by a midget t filipino named pek war. his fingers are so small that they can shape and smooth the metal better than anyone.
i had to let you figure it out for yourself.
part of your quest. to get to know your father.
pek war charges exorbitant prices, as much as ten-thousand dollars for a single round, but his craftsmanship is unparalleled. he heads over to wesley, hands him a slip of paper.
he knows.
hold until i give the word. he clicks off the radio and looks into his palm, where- e's holding that pearl handled aun, fingering the dried blood.
here comes the car. any minute now. take your positions. sloan leans out over the edge of his building, gun ready.
can't say i don't have a sense of irony. the place i first decided to bring you in. wesley is clutching his wounded shoulder with his wounded hand as blood starts to seep out of it in big red drops.
you once asked why i helped hide you as an infant.  it gave me power, wesley'. power to become a head of the fraternity. power over your father. and ultimately it gave me you: the perfect weapon to kill your father.
in some ways it pains me to do so. you 460 are like the son i never had.
fine. keep your worthless dignity. you're still just the same loser we plucked off the street six weeks ago. wesley continues to bleed, taking this in. sloan laughs derisively.
you can't win, wesley. the fraternity is everywhere. even if you kill me others will come from other cities to take my place. you'll be hunted your whole life.
	52:
c'mon, c'mon, c'mon. he looks out at the stairwell door.  and all is quiet. maybe mr. x didn't know he was there, maybe he left, maybe the last marksman can sneak away after all.
okay.  okay.  he finally decides.  .and takes one step forward.  thwap1!1 a bullet disintegrates his knee. he falls, clutching the knee in agony, as mr. x walks toward him slowly until he stands right over him like a hunter over his prey. mr. x's shoe comes down on the final marksman's wrist, pinning it away from his dropped weapon.
who sent you?
we're.  we're just the decoys, man. we were paid to get you out here.  the marksman points at a small video camera sitting on the roof, relaying their every move.  mr. x's face falls as.those words register, and just then.  ra rockets over thetreets of the city, block after block in the blink of any eye.  .until it reaches a rooftop, over a mile away.
look everyone, i'm gonna do wesley's four- ones for him! i don't have enough to do with my own damn job so i'll do wesley's too! wesley grabs the report back.
yes. uh.  well the 602 deals with applications sent by prospective clients and the 603 is when the client is.  everyone is still just staring.
you know that tomorrow it's going to start all over again. . and then the doors close.
you want me to go with you, buddy? what a dick. wesley doesn't turn around, defeated.
what is this?
there's a lot of things you don't know about yourself, wesley.
this is wesley gibson. he needs his life changed. the butcher looks him over.
like i told.  um.  the lady here.  i think you might ha ve me mixed up with someone else. i'm just an.  um.  account serv.  uh. that is.  account manager.  and.  my father died.  he hesitates.
shoot.  the wings.  off the flies. for. the first time, wesley notices flies buzzing all around.
but recently, a fallen angel, one of our own, has challenged that power. the screens in the room come to life with the face of cross.
i will do anything to avenge his death.' sloan turns off the monitors and pulls over a wooden chair from where it rests by a wall.
or would you like to begin your training with an assassin's fraternity that writes the world's history in blood and bullets? wesley doesn't know what to say. sloan moves to a back door .
if not, you're welcome to head out this door here and we'll never see each other again. with that., sloan leaves through that back door. but.
yeah.
i.  uh. i got hit by a man much bigger than me. nicole smiles, flirtatiously.
shut the fuck up11!!1111 it's so unbelievably stunning coming out of wesley's mouth that it hits janice like a slap in the face. heads all over the office start to poke out of the tops of their cubicles like gophers coming out of holes. nicole watches, pleasantly stunned, from a few feet away. janice looks around, shocked. wesley likes the way that felt, so.
sometimes the closest distance between two points is not a straight line. what if soccer mom here is between you and your target?
he trained me. made me what i am.
whatever happened to my father's guns? the pearl handled ones?
who said i was the only sister? maybe you just haven't met any others yet. wesley laughs.
hold still. he settles down.
i got tired of the color. wesley can't help but smile, then fox stops. they're standing right in front of a car showroom, displayed in the window is a midnight black porsche 911 convertible sitting in a showroom window.  'us like the one wesley's father smashed in fox's story.
protecting our assets. she hands the clip from the imanishi over to wesley.
and his killer. wesley nods, a grave expression on his face, like he knows what he is going to do next.
what do you want?
i didn't.
but you're only going to have one. pek war waits, trying not to writhe from the pain.
my clients use middlemen, i don't meet them in person, i know so little about them.  wesley twitches the handle just a bit.
everything they told you was a lie, wesley. with that.  cross falls down. his black jacket spills open to show a gun shot wound not just to his shoulder, but to hig n too. one of wesley's bullets through the train must have found its mark. cross is bleeding profusely. he gasps a couple of times.  then, with his last bit of energy.
sure. it's your first kill. i'll wait for you.
he left me more than this. wesley takes the coat and folds it over his arm.
listen, can i ask you a :question?
aaaaahhhh! she's firing both muzzles and her bullets find the marks this time, knocking wesley's guns out of his hands from where he lies flat on the floor. she's disarmed him, and now he's defenseless.  .and fox stands over him, breathing hard, her face bleeding, both gun barrels pointed right at wesley's face.
my god, he's been planning it from the beginning.
this is a fraternity hit. cross.  my fathar.  set up henry helms as bait, knowing sloan would use his best men for the job. he was going to take them all out. wesley looks at it some more.
who said i was the only sister? maybe you just haven't met any others yet.
me.
wesley? the camera moves to the side to show wesley crouched right behind him, a look of icy determination on his face as he holds the knife in place.
the name is cross. in the distance, the helms limo moves on, safely.
she told me that, too. and with that, he rolls the o0 over of , just as the assassins on the higher rooftops all unleash a hail of bullets. bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! the gunsmith takes a dozen shots, all in the chest, but none of the bullets make it through the gunsmith's body.
that's what i'd call a real ball ache. for a moment, wesley stands there, sizing up the situation. his eyes swivel from the gardener to the chef to the pharmacist. just then, the buildings ound all of them go black., just like in cross's model! wesley's eyes fall on the on the red corner of the nearest building, a cement block making up a decorative support column in front of it.
but that's not gonna happen. like i told you before, when we are called, death is as certain as the sun. wesley stands as straight as he can muster. the two men face each other like two gunmen on main street in dodge city.  an old newspaper even blows through like a tumbleweed. and we are close on wesley's face. act it i the same shot from the opening of the movie.
go ahead and shoot me, killer. just like you did your old man. wesley's finger starts to squeeze the trigger, but then he smiles.