Chapter Text
Kaeya Alberich has fallen into the wrong profession.
It’s not that he doesn’t know it. To the contrary, he knows it full well—he just finds that he can’t be particularly bothered to do anything about it.
And besides, the pay is good. So what’s the point in complaining about the morality of it all, really? Especially when you consider the fact that morality is grey and doesn’t really have an actual universal definition, as far as Kaeya is concerned.
The thing about working as a contract killer, Kaeya has learned, is that it is absolutely essential to shut off all emotions. You’ve got to have a sort of detachment from it all. No sense of remorse or any of that mess. It’s just another paycheck. Nothing more. Emotional attachment is problematic. Apathy is key.
Another thing generally regarded as A Fairly Bad Idea is having a family. Not that having a family in and of itself is a bad thing, it’s just that it has a tendency to get in the way of things.
Not that Kaeya can control the fact that he (technically) has a brother. (It’s complicated.) Still, he’s family, meaning he has a tendency to get in the way of things. Like now, for instance.
Kaeya had known it would pose an issue to his sanity when he accepted the job on Diluc Ragnvindr. That being said, he’s been in this profession for several years now, and seventy grand is well above the pay for your average job. It’s not his fault that his brother falls under the VIP category in terms of assassinations and, well, as cruel as it sounds, Kaeya still needs a paycheck. Morality be damned.
It’s how he justifies sitting on the rooftop of some building, sniper trained in hand, waiting patiently for his brother to walk out of the neighboring building’s revolving doors at precisely 1:58 PM to take his lunch break.
The building’s entrance door swings open and a man in his early twenties sporting an all-black suit and a low ponytail of flaming red hair walks out, right on schedule. Kaeya raises the sniper and squints through the scope, steadying his aim until the crosshairs float on the back of Diluc’s head. He tightens his grip and slides his finger to the trigger. A deep breath in, hold, then squeeze the trigger. Easy.
Except Kaeya never does get around to that last step. He’d like to blame it on the slight breeze that suddenly picked up and threw off his aim as well as whipped Diluc’s hair around his face and caused him to look up, forcing Kaeya to hit the ground so hard that he’s sure some of the concrete from the rooftop buried itself in his chin.
That being said, the breeze hadn’t been anywhere near strong enough to throw off the aim of a seasoned marksman such as Kaeya. No, there’s definitely a different reason why Kaeya had simply been unable to pull the trigger. Something deeper.
But of course, that would just be ridiculous. He’s been working as a contract killer for far too long to make such a rookie mistake as letting his emotions get in the way of his work. He’s Kaeya fucking Alberich, not some new recruit they picked up off the street a week ago. There’s a reason he’s as infamous as he is.
It’s because he’s so unreadable. No one can tell what he’s thinking—not even his boss. He’s an enigma.
And it makes him lethal.