It never ceased to amaze Him, that wherever he went, whatever he did, people were always basically the same. Always hierarchical, always passing resources up the pyramids of power, to support the organisers, those who had made a claim on those resources. Most people accepted that was the way things would be, and got on with their lives, consistently working, one way or another, to perpetuate the circumstances, even when they were clearly suffering for it.
The traveller himself had come from just such a society. Indeed, he had been one of those who had enjoyed the benefits of such a system, purely through accident of birth. And he was not about to complain. After all, his social status had opened doors of access. It had enable him to get a first-class education, to use those resources as a means of seeing more of the world than the toilers in the fields would ever conceive of.
Truth be told, he had to acknowledge that without such a system, there was no way his eyes would have been opened to the flaws within it, had he been born of cruder stock.
That was his paradox. He wanted to elevate the human condition, but he knew damned-well that if he had not been born from privilege, he would never have had such lofty goals. It used to frustrate him as a younger man. These days, it merely made him smile with an amused twinkle in his eye. Just one of the many eternal comedies of life he had come to terms with, over the years.
“Here. This tea will revitalise your boy. I have sealed the wound with a spell, but he needs to rest for the next couple of days, or the wound will re-open. The muscles need to complete their regrowth in the right position, or his hand will be deformed. That means, keep the splint tight. Do you understand?” He did not wait for an answer from the boy's wide-eyed mother. Instead, the traveller stood up and strode over to the next bed. A pale young man with hollow eyes and sallow skin looked blankly up at him.
“Malnourished. Give this boy broth and plenty of warm water. And mix some of this powder in with the water.” He handed the nurse a paper sachet, shooing her away while he went to the next cot and then the next.
An hour later and he was standing outside the charity, staring up at an overcast sky. First spatterings of rain touching his face. Leaning back, the man closed his eyes, extracting a small delight as needles of cold from sky soothed the tension that he felt. Suffering still touched him these days, but more the general concept of suffering. Now, individuals in pain blurred together in his thoughts. Only the work mattered now. Professional pride.
He rubbed his temples. Odd that something like that should still matter to him, after all this time. Time to go home.
When the ruffians grabbed him, he made no effort to resist. They just wanted drugs, maybe some money. It wasn't his first robbery after all. He knew the drill.
But as they dragged him into an alley and the blade came out, he noticed a methodical quietness about the three men. They were better-fed than your usual mugger, less desperation in the eyes. Something wasn't right here.
“Okay, do it here. Make it look good, tovarisch,” said one of the men to his comrades. That was when the traveller realised this was not going to be a robbery at all.