Chapter Text
It's late when Henry finally makes it back into Rattay. The city never really sleeps, but in the very late and very early hours it's quieter. He moves quickly, purposefully avoiding the shadowed forms curled up in doorways and hallways, and thus trying to avoid the lingering guilt when he sees the refugees they haven't been able to help yet. He knows he does as much as he can, Theresa and Godwin tell him as much, but he always feels like he could be doing more.
He's tired enough that he opts for the elevator instead of the stairs. His apartment is only midway up the massive complex, but that's still a bit too far after he's spent all day delivering supplies for Theresa. He presses the button and leans his forehead on the panel for the twenty seconds it takes for the car to arrive, and then he steps on and presses the button for his floor.
He watches though the glass walls of the car as the lower floors fall away beneath him, the different buildings stacked at angles creating terraces and space for gardens, all of them surrounding an open space in the middle where trees and flowers and even a small pond fill the space. Thousands upon thousands of people live and work here. They still call them towns and cities, but when it comes down to it, it's just one massive building, with everything people need for their day-to-day, and all of it interconnected. A hive, but for people instead of the insects they almost wiped out.
It's beautiful, in a way. The architecture is impressive and varied, genuinely pleasing to look apart. But a part of him is sad to see that this is how people live, that the "village green" is all of nature that most will ever see, aside from glimpses out the windows of cars or trains. He knows it could be worse. He paid enough attention in history classes to know they could all be crammed into tiny apartments, stacked on top of each other like egg crates, not a single bit of greenery in sight. The '48 Riots had shaken the upper echelons enough that they were forced to give the people something. They ended up with this. Housing, food, and employment for all. And it is good, things would be so much worse without them, but the trade-off is they're kept contained, kept in their place, quite literally living below those who run their world. Not quite trapped, but it feels that way at times.
It's not true for everyone, though. He thinks of the shadowed shapes he'd avoided, the survivors who had fled when Skalitz burned. They'd scattered to the winds, landing in whatever town would offer them shelter, but that's about all they were offered. They won't die of exposure, but for the many who haven't been as lucky as he, that's all they have. They scrape for every last bit of money, rely on soup kitchens like Theresa's to feed themselves. It's why Henry does what he does. Why nearly all the money he makes gets funneled back to taking care of those who were lucky enough to survive, but were still left with nothing.
It would be so easy to give them just a little bit more.
He twists his head, but from where he is he can't see the Castle, the penthouse home of current CEO of Leipa Holdings Group, the actual owners of Rattay, lords in all but name. Is that by design? Was it the first "lord" of Rattay making sure his "subjects" couldn't sully his home by their looks alone? All the CEOs are like that, sitting above everyone else, ruling like benevolent dictators over their citizens, like they were all living in some kind of feudal fief. Even Skalitz hadn't been immune, though he begrudgingly admits Radzig Kobyla had been more generous with his citizens than he's seen in the other towns.
The door the elevator opens with a muted chime and he walks out, turning down the hallways that will take him home. The scanner by the door pulses when he sets his hand against it, and then again when it reads his prints and lets him in. Most of the apartment is dark, though there's a light glowing in the living room letting him know Sam is still awake. Bending, he yanks his boots off and tosses them into the small pile by the door, and then goes to see why his brother's still up.
Sam sits on their couch, half empty bottle of beer in his hand. That sends one of Henry's eyebrows up, joined by the second when Sam says, "I have a contract. You're either going to love it or hate it, and I am not sure which."
He picks up the tablet next to him and holds it out. It's an old, battered thing, long stripped of any ability to remotely connect to anything. Everything on it is loaded on directly by Sam and then deleted at the completion of every job. Henry taps in his first password and then the second before the screen flashes and reveals a single file folder.
A single tap opens the folder and brings up the contract and target. Henry's eyes boggle at the payment, and then he scrolls down and sees why.
Hans Capon.
Someone wants to eliminate the CEO of Leipa Holdings and is willing to pay handsomely for it.
"Fuck," he mutters and sits down, taking the beer Sam holds out to him and draining the rest. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. He's never taken a job this high profile…or that pays this much. His mind immediately fills with ideas about what he could do with the money. He could do good, real good for people, and at the same time remove one of the parasites that preys on them. He's not naive enough to think it will truly change anything. Henry knows the CEO will be replaced. But maybe it will be good for these fuckers to feel fear again.
He studies the pictures provided, as if he somehow wouldn't know who Capon is. Still, he goes over them like he does every mark. Capon is young and unfairly good-looking, likely the result of surgery and treatments and products that cost more than hundreds of his citizens make in a year. He's pampered and spoiled, and every image reveals a man who's never known a day's hardship or deprivation.
There's something vaguely familiar about him, but he can't place it. Henry supposes it's the same way all celebrities look familiar. Their faces are plastered everywhere, and there's no avoiding them, no matter how much you want to.
"So?" Sam asks.
"I don't know," Henry admits. "God, the money makes it almost a no-brainer, but this is risky, How would I even get to him? It's not like he ever goes anywhere unescorted."
"The file came with access codes to the Castle."
Henry goes cold. Someone with the access codes wants Capon dead. That changes the equation. He looks back down at the photos. "Are we being set up?" he asks quietly.
"I do not think so." Taking the empty bottle back, Sam heads back into the kitchen. The fridge door cracks open, spilling bright light into the room as Sam grabs two more bottles. The fridge door swinging shut accompanies the familiar pop and hiss of the bottles being opened, and then Sam returns, proffering one of the beers to Henry. "We are small fish. You do good work, and have a clean record." He hesitates. "It was mentioned your style was what they were looking for."
Henry takes a hefty swallow of beer. His style. What a backhanded compliment. Henry's good at killing people. It pays the bills not just for himself, but for all the work Theresa and Godwin do. But just because he's good at it doesn't mean he likes it. There's no honor in it, not that honor is thing people care about anymore. He could never bring himself to carry out long-range kills. When he completes a contract, when he ends a life, he gives his targets the courtesy of looking their killer in the eyes.
"They want him to know before he dies."
"Yes."
His targets are universally assholes. And yes, Capon is one as well—if only by the simple virtue that he feeds off of everyone below him—but he hasn't actually heard of any sort of heinous crime he's committed, the kind that usually has people reaching out to Henry to enact the vengeance they can't.
Although….
Henry hasn't been deaf to the rumors. The longer he's thought about it, the more suspicions he's harbored, and the more he's become convinced of the hidden truth. Skalitz isn't the only town to have burned. Pribyslavitz, Semine, Vranik, Maleshov, Opawitz, the partial collapse of Talmberg…. Even the bigger cities aren't immune. Districts in both Kuttenberg and Prague have seen disasters, though strangely never in the well-to-do districts. He knows there must be more he hasn't heard about. All disasters, all tragedies, and in every one, Leipa Holdings has either won the reconstruction contract or outright purchased the remains to rebuild for themselves.
The same was true of Skalitz. Kobyla Metallurgy had sold the graves of Henry's family and friends to Leipa. He's gone back a few times, looked at the skeleton of what will soon be a sleek new town rising into the sky, and wonders if it had really been an accident.
Still, Henry looks at the pictures again, eyes catching on one where Capon has been caught mid-laugh, eyes squinted as he grins. It's probably the last flattering image in the file, and he still manages to look like a Renaissance painting. It's the picture of a man who's had every advantage in like, and yet someone close to him, someone with the access codes to his home, wants him dead. "Who the fuck did you piss off?" he murmurs.
In the end, it doesn't matter. Capon's death will do more good than his life ever had. "What's the time frame?"
"A month."
A generous window. Maybe too generous. It makes him uneasy, but the money is just too good. He tips his head back, drains the beer, and then nods at Sam. "Go ahead and accept."
"You are sure?"
Henry hesitates. Sam is the one who vets all the contracts. Henry's never asked his brother for specifics, doesn't want to know. It's better that they keep their two halves of this operation separate. But Sam doesn't usually express doubt once a contract has made it to Henry's hands.
"Are you sure?" he returns.
"I confess, this much money…makes me uneasy."
Knowing he's not the only one doesn't make Henry feel any better. He forces himself to shrug. "If something happens, you know all my passkeys. You'll be okay. I have enough to see you—"
"It is not the money I worry about!" Sam snaps. His fist it tight upon the neck of his still full bottle. "You are my only brother. You are worth more than the sum of your accounts."
"Sorry," Henry says quietly into the silence that follows. "I'll be careful, I promise."
"See that you do." He gets up, handing his full bottle to Henry. "I'll make contact, say you've accepted it. We should have the access codes soon after."
"Good night!" Henry calls to his retreating back, getting a hand wave in return. He looks at the two bottles in his hands and pushes up to his feet. In the kitchen, he drinks the last beer while standing over the kitchen sink, and then rinses the three bottles, putting them off to the side for collection later. Then he drinks a glass of water and heads off to brush his teeth. If he's lucky, he'll start to feel a pleasant little buzz as he falls asleep with no repercussions in the morning.
And then, he'll get to work.