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Le Centre Pompidou.
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Sacré Coeur.
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Under the Old Laws, only one can survive.
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Do you both understand that?
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Very good.
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Rules.
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The Challenged chooses first. Time?
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Sunrise.
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Now.
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Sunrise.
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Location?
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You come here, thinking
there is a way out of this world for you, Mr. Wick?
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There is not.
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Le Centre Pompidou.
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Sacré Coeur.
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Sacré Coeur.
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Weapons?
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If you win,
The Table will honor its word.
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You will have your freedom.
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But you won't take it.
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Blades.
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Pistols.
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Dueling pistols. Thirty paces.
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In the event that both parties survive,
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each will approach the other
at increments of ten paces until only one remains.
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Rules of engagement.
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No quarter.
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You know why you won't take your freedom?
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Hmm?
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Because this is who you are,
who you've always been.
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You are a killer.
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An orphan we plucked from the street
and honed into a knife.
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And it is the killing
that gives you purpose.
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A man without purpose is nothing.
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No quarter.
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No quarter.
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If there is nothing else, gentlemen, I will see
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A nomination.
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It is his right.
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Do you have a name?
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Caine.
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So be it.
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Sunrise, Sacré Coeur.
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Dueling pistols, no quarter.
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Should Mr. Wick be victorious, he will be free of any
and all obligation to The High Table,
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and his Second will be reinstated
as the manager of the rebuilt New York Continental.
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Should the Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont be victorious...
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John Wick will be dead, as will his Second.
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Just so.
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Now, if there is nothing more, gentlemen,
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I will see you at sunrise.
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Failure to meet at the appointed hour
will result in forfeiture and immediate execution.
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There is no John out there.
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No happy husband with a normal life.
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There's only John Wick, the killer.
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And he's going to kill you.