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Henry couldn't care less about the chain reaction that might result from nudging Tony Stark into using the military against Hydra hidden within S.H.I.E.L.D.
After all, he was just the guy who gave a bad idea. With the signal jammer in place, as long as Tony didn't go around blabbing about Henry's role, no third party would ever know.
If the military and "Snake Shield" ended up beating each other's brains out, that had nothing to do with him.
Besides, the military and intelligence agencies had never gotten along—let alone S.H.I.E.L.D., which evolved from the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR). To many, it looked like a splinter faction that had broken away from the military.
People would simply assume that Stark Industries—now transitioning into a military-industrial giant—had come up with another reckless idea, backed by its close ties to the armed forces.
---
Henry left shortly after Tony.
He had to head to the airport—his girl had finally gotten her visa reissued at the U.S. Embassy in the UK and was flying back to Los Angeles.
But before getting into his car, Henry hesitated for a moment.
Extending his super senses, he scanned the surroundings—no surveillance personnel, and conveniently, a blind spot in the parking lot cameras.
He reached under the seat and pulled out a bomb detonator.
Of course, he hadn't planted it.
Crushing the detonator in his hand, he minimized any potential harm. The harmless components were tossed casually aside.
As for the explosives themselves—those were worth keeping. Henry had been wondering how to get his hands on some. Four quarter-pound sticks of TNT weren't exactly easy to come by.
---
On the way to the airport, Henry kept up his usual vigilance, monitoring his surroundings.
That's when he overheard:
"Target spotted. Brown vintage Cadillac. Proceeding along planned route."
The voice came from a sanitation worker by the roadside—speaking quietly into a concealed microphone.
Expanding his perception, Henry quickly located the other end of the communication: a garbage truck waiting at the next intersection.
The driver started the engine—clearly preparing for a side-impact collision.
Instead of playing along, Henry turned early, diverting onto another road. Rather than taking the shortest route to the airport, he made a detour and stopped at a flower shop.
He picked out a bouquet—white dahlias and pink dinner-plate dahlias.
While waiting for the arrangement, a sniper had time to reposition.
As Henry stepped out of the shop—
Bang.
A sniper round struck his forehead.
Well… not quite.
Henry casually tilted his head, letting the bullet ricochet upward into a building wall, avoiding any chance of injuring bystanders.
He scratched the spot where the 12.7mm round had hit, completely unfazed, then got back into his car.
Behind him, the sniper stared at his rifle in disbelief—half tempted to shoot himself just to check if the ammo was defective.
---
Back on the road, another threat appeared.
A pickup truck sped wildly behind him, honking nonstop, nearly rear-ending him multiple times.
Henry had no interest in a high-speed chase through city streets.
Using narrow lanes to his advantage, he alternated speeds, swerved left and right—like a chaotic but technically "normal" inexperienced driver.
Eventually, the pursuing truck crashed into a fire hydrant.
Steam billowed from its hood.
Henry didn't even bother stopping.
Frankly, he felt generous enough already for not stepping out and giving the guy a "six-month hospital package punch."
Still… he had doubts.
Was that actually an assassin? Or just an aggressive road rager?
The guy hadn't mentioned anything about killing—just a nonstop stream of colorful profanity.
---
After dodging two potential "accidents," Henry finally reached the airport parking lot.
Bouquet in hand, he stepped out.
Inside LAX's departure hall, a well-dressed woman approached, concealing a syringe in her briefcase.
A quick jab, a press of the thumb—potassium cyanide injected—and even gods couldn't save the target.
Except—
Her hand slipped.
The needle bent on contact.
The solution sprayed uselessly onto the ground.
Realizing her mistake, the assassin didn't hesitate—she stuck to her escape plan and disappeared.
Henry didn't even react.
To him, it was just another minor inconvenience hidden beneath the flowers.
---
He thought that was it.
It wasn't.
Two burly men, each carrying concealed stun batons, approached from a distance.
Coincidence? Passing by? Or—
Henry casually shifted through the crowd, as if protecting his bouquet, subtly moving toward airport police.
Whether it was their intimidating appearance or existing warrants, the officers immediately approached the two men.
The moment the pair saw police coming—they ran.
The police chased.
They didn't even know what the suspects had done yet—but running was enough.
And just like that, the two "professionals" exposed themselves without Henry lifting a finger.
He watched, speechless.
---
From Stark Pictures to the airport, that made at least five assassination attempts.
This density of killers?
If it wasn't the Continental's doing, Henry wouldn't believe it.
Freelancers didn't swarm into Los Angeles like this without checking in—otherwise, the harbor floor would welcome them.
So…
Had he kicked a hornet's nest?
Or was there a bounty on his head?
Standing there with the bouquet, Henry thought it through.
The Continental was just a broker. If someone posted a bounty, this was expected.
His past association didn't grant immunity. He hadn't worked in a long time—and hadn't paid any "dues."
Protection wasn't free.
As for who would want him dead right now—
One name surfaced instantly:
The Arden family.
---
Just then—
"Darling!"
A familiar voice rang out.
Charlize Theron ran toward him, dragging her luggage.
Henry handed her the bouquet, then pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her.
Reunited lovers at an airport—nothing unusual.
Though a few bitter onlookers cast envious glances.
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