A/N: I've had this chapter ready to go for about two weeks, but held off on posting it as I wanted to make some progress with the second chapter of this revision plan of mine. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened yet so I might as well post it now. Let me know if you like this version of events more than the original. I know I do, despite some things remaining the same.
The Range Rover rolled to a halt outside the gates of the military base, its wheels kicking up dust as it settled. The guard stationed in the booth, accustomed to the regular comings and goings of soldiers and occasional dignitaries, was momentarily taken aback when he peered out and recognized the imposing figure of the mayor of Berk behind the tinted windows.
Moving with experienced ease, the guard straightened in his seat and slid open the window of the booth. "Can I help you, sir?" he inquired, his tone respectful yet guarded.
Stoick inclined his head, the lowered window revealing his stern but concerned expression. "Yes, I want to speak with my son. Is Captain Haddock—"
"He's on leave, Sir," the soldier interjected. "For a week. He told me personally."
The mayor's brow furrowed in thought, processing this unexpected information. "On leave?" Stoick echoed, seeking confirmation, to which the guard nodded crisply. "Okay, thank you. I'll be going then."
The guard said nothing more, simply closing the booth window as Stoick's vehicle manoeuvred away.
As the Range Rover made its way toward his son's residence, Stoick wrestled with the weight of the news he bore. How to broach the delicate topic of the bomb discovered in his office weighed heavily on his mind. He knew his son deserved to know, yet he grappled with the best approach.
Lost in contemplation, Stoick arrived at Henry's house and spent a few moments standing outside before he rapped his fist on the door.
Time ticked by, each second stretching into eternity as anticipation built.
No response.
Again, Stoick's fist met the sturdy wooden door, the reverberation more forceful this time.
Minutes slipped away, but there was still no sign of movement from within.
Frustration tinged with concern crept into Stoick's features. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he dialled his son's number, the ringing breaking the silence of the deserted porch. But the call went to voicemail.
Then he heard it mere seconds later—a distant, faint ringing emanating from within Henry's home.
Realization dawned upon Stoick. His son's phone must have been forgotten or misplaced, its insistent ring muffled within the walls. His mind accepted this as an explanation, failing to register how the call had gone to voicemail a moment or two prior.
Turning away, a foreboding feeling settled over him as Stoick marched back to his car, a singular question echoing in his mind.
Son, where are you?
But fate intervened cruelly. The deafening explosion tore through the serene neighbourhood, engulfing the house in a cataclysmic blast that shattered the quietude of that particular corner of Berk. Stoick, caught in the midst, was instantly taken from the world.
Down the street, a man observed the devastation, unnoticed from the confines of his vehicle. His gaze was cold and calculating as he watched the chaos unfold. Toothless, sedated and unaware in his guardian's lap, stirred slightly but failed to wake. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of the man's lips as he scanned the street for any signs of approaching witnesses. Satisfied, he started the engine and smoothly drove away, leaving a scene of tragedy in his wake.
Elsewhere on Berk, a car came to a stop in front of an old but well-kept garage. The driver flashed the headlights, and the garage door was raised, permitting two large men to exit the building and approach the car while the driver got out. Tossing a key fob to one of them, the driver entered the garage, heading for the manager's office at the very back of the establishment.
"Come on in, Haddock," a deep voice spoke in answer to his knocking on the door a moment earlier.
So that was what the driver did, and as he entered, the sound of a car driving away became audible.
"How was he?"
Henry took a seat, and the chair creaked ominously beneath him. "Precisely as expected. You really need a new set of chairs, Alvin."
The massive form opposite him shrugged. "That'll come later."
"Cheapskate."
Alvin chuckled, and his chair gave its own protest. "I happen to have a key to give to someone I trust can take care of this old place."
He dug in a pocket for a key on a keyring, which he then placed on the desk between them and slid it across the thin surface with two fingers.
"You're giving me the place?"
"You did always want to be a mechanic before all of this."
"Yeah, but I also don't know the first thing about business."
"Speak to Savage. Work out a schedule between the both of you. I have a feeling he'll be less busy in the future."
"Okay... so how much would I owe you?"
"It's on the house."
"Then I won't take the place. You really need money for some new chairs."
"Get it up and running first. Then, if you insist, we'll discuss what you owe me."
"Now we're talking."
"Sorry, Alvin, it looks like I won't be taking that garage off your hands after all. At least, not yet. Call me back when you get this message. We need to talk, and I'll probably need your help with something," Henry said before hanging up, sighing as he took in the devastation before him.
The debris scattered around—charred brick, wood, dust, and plaster—was all that remained of his house. His father's Range Rover, parked in front, was barely recognizable, with the windshield cracked beyond repair and the rest of the vehicle heavily damaged.
As he stood there, his attention shifted to the fire chief, who had just lowered his phone and was now walking toward him.
"So, what happens now?" Henry asked, his voice heavy with the weight of the situation.
The fire chief, a middle-aged man with a stern yet compassionate expression, nodded slightly before responding. "First, I need to make sure you have somewhere safe to stay tonight. Do you have a place you can go?"
"Yeah," Henry replied. "I have a family friend I can stay with, or I could go to a hotel."
"Good," the fire chief said. "That's the most important thing right now. The area is still being secured, and we'll need to conduct a thorough investigation to determine the cause of the explosion. The police will likely want to speak with you as well, so it's important you stay available."
Henry glanced back at what was left of his home, the reality of the situation sinking in deeper. "Is there anything I need to do? Anyone I need to contact?"
"We'll handle most of it from here," the fire chief assured him. "But if you think of anything relevant—something that might have led to this—let the police know. For now, it's best not to disturb the site until we've completed our work."
Henry nodded, still trying to process the loss. "Alright, I'll stay out of the way. Just let me know if you need anything from me."
"We will," the fire chief said, giving him a reassuring look. "And if you need any assistance or support, don't hesitate to ask. We're here to help."
With that, the fire chief turned back to his team, leaving Henry to absorb the magnitude of what had just happened.
Further along the street, near a junction with another, Henry turned to face the smoking remains of his house. Then he turned his back to it.
The casino is this way... and I have a line of sight with my house. Right... I know who did this and who gave the order...
His brief role as a detective complete, Henry hurried back to his car as a plan began to form in his mind.
A sheet of paper was placed on the counter, and the shopkeeper who had placed it there paused when she emerged from the room behind it.
"Mr. Haddock…" The shopkeeper quickly scanned what was written on the sheet of paper. "So good to see you again. I thought you were retiring from this sort of work?"
"Me too, Mia... Things changed."
"May I ask what those things are?"
Henry shook his head. Then he tapped a finger on the sheet of paper. "Do you have what I need in stock?"
"Mr. Haddock, if I didn't, I'd be visited by Alvin."
"Oh, of course. My mind is still stuck on the things that changed. How much?"
"It's on the house."
"Not today it isn't. So, how much do I owe you?"
The double doors slid open silently as Krogan emerged from the Caledonian Casino. It was night in Berk, which meant the modern building was lit up like a beacon against the dark sky. The man was simply happy not to have to look at it as he left. It was far too bright for that.
Carefully navigating the car park to his car, he climbed in, fiddling with some keys to start the ignition. This meant he noticed too late the figure that approached the car and wrenched open the unlocked front passenger door, climbing in with a gun pointed at Krogan.
The man stiffened, staring into cold green eyes, with the rest of the interloper's face concealed by a balaclava. His unwanted guest leaned forward, and Krogan restrained the urge to shy away; the gun barrel that was forced against his forehead was cold to the touch. "You have someone of mine, Krogan. Where is he?"
"Who are we talking about?" Krogan said carefully.
"Black fur, eyes that match mine in color, sass to behold. I'm sure you know precisely the feline I mean. Where is he?"
Krogan gave a humourless chuckle. "I forget."
Henry's grip tightened on the gun as he leaned closer. "You've got five seconds to tell me where my cat is, or I swear, I'll paint this car with your brains. One."
Krogan shrugged. "He escaped."
"Sure he did. Two."
"I give you my word that he did."
"You really want to do this?" Henry prompted, pressing the gun more forcefully against Krogan's forehead. "Three."
"Do you really have it in you to kill someone in cold blood?"
"Four."
"Alright!" Krogan capitulated. "He's in the casino, in my office, second floor, use the spiral staircase."
Henry withdrew the gun from Krogan's forehead. "Wise decision. Only there's one other thing."
A shot echoed in the enclosed space of the car.
"I never said I was going to let you live. That was for my father."
Arriving at his next destination, Henry encountered a metal gate secured with a chain and a padlock. However, it wasn't long before someone came to help out. In this case, Savage was alerted by the lights shining into his hut. He unlocked the gate and waved Henry on to drive through.
Parking beyond the gate, he got out and waited as Savage closed it behind him and then joined him. "Usual service?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Right, I'll start up the compactor. You deal with the corpse. Same place as usual, by the way."
"Alright."
They set about doing what needed to be done, then reunited to watch the car be reduced to scrap.
"So what now?" Savage asked. "Who's next on your list again?"
"He who should not be named."
"Ah, well, good luck with that."
Emma was woken by someone knocking on her door. Sitting up in bed and reaching for her phone, she turned on the screen to find it was midnight. She heard more knocking as she threw back the duvet to stand up, then crouched, reaching under her bed for her gun.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Whoever you are," she murmured as she traversed the hallway outside her bedroom. Reaching the door, she flicked on a light switch on the wall beside it and gazed through the eyehole.
Seeing who it was, she opened the door. "Why are you knocking on my door at midnight? You woke me up. Also, what's with the balaclava?"
"Yeah, sorry about that… You mind if I crash on your couch? I have money if you want it," said Henry as he took off his balaclava.
"Sure, fine. Come in. I'm going back to bed, though. Living room's the first room on the right—you figure out the rest. Goodnight."
"Night…" Henry stepped into the hallway, then shut and locked the door behind him.
Finding the right room and flopping on the couch, he kicked off his shoes and then held his phone above his head; the light illuminating his face.
How is Toothless doing? I know it's late, but I have to know.
There was no immediate responding text, however, and before long, Henry had fallen asleep, his phone falling from lax fingers to land on the edge of the couch as he reached the land of nod.