It drove him mad, sometimes, so much so that he wanted to scream. The monotonous drone of footsteps in the halls, of emotionless, curt voices in offices and in the lunchroom, mindless blather about bullying bosses, cute secretaries, excessive paperwork—he could hardly stand sitting in Headquarters.
This was the government, goddamn it, he wanted to scream. This was the military! These were the soldiers who had supposedly pledged their lives to protecting the people, alchemists and non-alchemists alike, meant to serve their country and all its citizens until they no longer could. What were they doing spending the whole day talking, complaining, whining, flirting when people were out there suffering, starving, dying?
What was wrong with them, he wanted to scream. Every other week he'd leave for a mission, and every time it would hit him a little bit harder how wrong things were. He'd come across children in the streets, and the officers in charge of regulating charities and orphanages were goofing around on their lunch break. He'd come across cities so overrun with crime that you couldn't survive by obeying the law, and those in charge of its enforcement were taking month-long paid vacations whenever they pleased. He'd seen veterans who understood the hell of war, and he'd seen far, far too many innocents who'd suffered directly because of it, and here were the highest Generals, the Fuhrer himself—those entrusted more than anyone else with the good of the country—and all they wanted to do was start another campaign of violence to defend the "honor" of their "great nation."
They were breaking this country, he wanted to scream. They were killing the people they'd sworn to protect. Was he the only one who saw? The only one who understood? But no, he wasn't—in fact, he'd heard the same sentiment from others. He'd heard people he met on his travels, his own friends, even some of the dogs themselves speak darkly of the cruel system. But at the same time…
What can I do, he wanted to scream. He wanted to help, had to help, tried to make things better whenever he could, but in the end, he had his own goals. He had things to do before he could even begin to fix everybody else's problems. And that was exactly what everyone else said: sure, I'd love to donate some money, but you know, I have to put bread on the table… sure, I'd love to join a protest, but you know, I have a family to take care of and there are some things I just can't risk… sure, I'd love to go on strike or sign a petition, but you know, I don't have another job… The excuses drove him insane. And the worst part? He had his own.
We have to fix this, he wanted to scream. Someone had to start something. Someone had to drop their stupid excuses and get up already. Someone had to risk everything…
…And it wasn't until then, sitting cornered on the banks of a river by the dogs he'd thought he despised most of all, that he saw someone else lose the ability not to scream their frustrations at him, and he finally felt his cries were heard.
A/N: WHEEE I wrote something and it's not completely made of FAIL! 8D
...Or is it? Tell me what you think.