Fullmetal Alchemist: The Blind Alchemist
Chapter 1: The Blind Alchemist
Light streamed lazily through the latticed window, casting a dull shaft upon the old worn volumes of books that filled the Central Library. It was a quiet place, rarely visited by anyone other than a state alchemist, and only then it was usually in the name of some absorbing research that required absolute silence. However, this was not the case of the man who sat alone at a table on the upper floor; he had short brown hair with a gentle and wise face. A calm smile spread across his lips and he was dressed rather sloppily in the uniform of a State Military Officer. His eyes were completely concealed by the plain cloth blindfold that he was wearing, tied off neatly at the back; he couldn't have been more than 30 years old.
The table before him was completely barren save for the thin layer of dust that had begun to cumulate atop it; marred only by five long ruts from where he had ran his fingers across. No book was clutched in his hand nor did he make any motion other than to shift comfortably in his chair. He was never really sure why he sat so often in the library; it was ludicrous considering his total blindness that he should enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by such old tomes as those that lined the shelves all around him.
It was the silence he knew. When a place was completely and utterly silent, he was left alone in his little world of thoughts, theories, and day dreams. In a place like this, he could always find himself standing in what he assumed would rate a picturesque world of colors and music; he loved music and was himself an accomplished pianist and violinist as well as a guitarist of some renown. Music more than anything allowed him to see, to see perhaps more than others could ever hope too.
With a half-concealed sigh he rose slowly to his feet, wincing as he put the slightest weight upon his right leg. He clutched the cane that had been lying benignly against the table tightly. As he walked he swung his stiff leg awkwardly, each time remembering the event that had earned him the crippling wound; he was offered the best in auto-mail by the state government to compensate him, but he had declined. Instead he allowed his leg to serve as a reminder that the strongest alchemist had their limits, but those limits were never factored into the duty they had to the people.
He ambled slowly down the stairs and across the main atrium, the librarian glancing momentarily up at the rhythmic tap-tap made by his cane as he passed. Once outside, he leaned upon the brick wall of the building ad reached into his left pocket. He removed the ornate silver chained pocket watch that was held there and clicked it open; carefully he removed the glass cover that protected the clock hands before running a questioning hand over the naked watch face. After a few seconds, he replaced the cover and closed the watch.
Returning the pocket watch to its rightful place, he shambled calmly down the street, on his way to Central Military headquarters. A few minutes later he stepped into the large cafeteria, allowing the wave of rambling conversation to flow over him as he pushed the heavy wooden double doors open and stepped through. Though he wasn't particularly hungry, it was the entrance he had become accustomed to using considering that there was guaranteed to be at least one person here willing to give him a hand navigating the halls or reading any orders that were delivered by letter to him considering that he was completely unable to do so himself.
"Major!?!" A voice yelled and he heard the sound of feet hitting the ground rapidly as someone rushed towards him, the flap of papers flailing about as they ran gave them away as some kind of aid, "Major Jacobs!?!"
"Present." The blind man responded with a good natured laugh, "What can I do for you?"
"Major Kross Jacobs?" The aid asked, breathing heavily from an apparently lengthy run; Kross assumed that the man was merely out of physical practice, "Sir! Colonel Mustang wants to see you."
"Lovely." replied Kross with a sigh; in his experience, the Colonel only wanted to speak with him when the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial fan.
"Uhm… Sir?" The aid ventured, still standing at a crisp military salute, "Should I tell the Colonel that you're on the way?"
"Yeah; I'll be there shortly." Kross replied, motioning for the man to leave.
The aid saluted once more before turning and scurrying away, leaving the blind man alone; well, about as alone as a man can get standing in the middle of a full cafeteria. He stood there for a moment, allowing it all to wash over him once more; finally he was ready. Attempting hustle his way past the bustling group of people between him and the opposite side exit, which proved to be a futile effort. Usually when people saw him coming, they merely stepped aside or helped clear a path, but it seemed no one was willing to allow a petty thing like human compassion get in the way of their second course. Kross couldn't blame them though, the military made the best chocolate pudding after all.
Places like this confused him; there were just too many people, to much activity for him to get his bearings. Out in the open it was easy enough for him to navigate, given his unique ability and training, but here he could barely determine left from right. Finally he emerged on the opposite side of the writhing mass, none the worse for wear save for a ruffled shirt, which had probably been ruffled before hand, and a dull pain in his right leg from accidentally walking into the edge of one of the several rectangular tables that dominated the room.
Placing his hand on the opposite wall, he began to make his way slowly through the building, stopping at intervals to ask for assistance and get his bearings. While Kross was confident in his own ability to get from point A to point B, he wasn't too proud to ask for help when it was necessary. Eventually he found himself hustled before a sturdy wooden door that by simply running his hand over he knew was the correct one. Kross rapt upon it smartly with his cane; once, twice, thrice and then finally…
"You still knock like an angry old man Major." A female voice said from inside, muffled by the heavy wooden door.
"No, I knock like an angry old blind man who's anxious to find out just exactly what problem the infallible Colonel Mustang has that needs my special talents." Kross replied, leaning against the door frame in an annoyed manner as he awaited the inevitable reply.
"I see…" The voice continued from the other side, "Well, come in."
The man pushed the door open and stepped into the Colonel's office. His imagination conjured up a vivid image of a spacious room dominated by a large oaken desk; pictures of family members and friends scattered across its matted surface along with strewn case files and cluttered folders. Sitting behind the desk is a young woman with long raven black hair pulled up so as not to get in the way; her clear blue eyes gazing down at photos and forms arranged in a dreary manner. Kross stopped in the middle of the room, leaning heavily upon his cane; He heard the large backed chair creak as she leaned back and accompanied by a gentle sigh.
"Please, take a seat Major." She said, motioning vaguely towards the chair that sat across from her on the opposite side of the desk.
"I'd rather stand." Kross replied, taking a few steps closer to the desk, using his cane to make sure he didn't accidentally walk into it.
"Hmm… any particular reason why?"
"The last time someone invited me to sit down; there wasn't a chair behind me." stated the man in an overly casual manner. The young woman allowed herself a gentle laugh before assuring him that there was indeed a chair awaiting him. With a shrug he sat back, relieved that the 1/3 rule had come through once again; Kross had found that one in three people were empathic enough not to use his limitations as a source of personal amusement. Life had taught him to take things in stride, but it was still annoying to be led into a wall or not warned that there was a short upcoming drop. "Now, let's get down to business my dear Rose Mustang."
"You've no doubt heard about the recent rash of disappearances that have been plaguing Central lately. Thirty-two people have gone missing, and that's just the ones we know about." The Colonel said, leaning forward and propping her head on both arms.
"Murders?" Kross asked, tapping thoughtful on the head of his cane.
"Frankly, we don't know; the only similar case in recent history was over twenty years ago when the Ishbalan known as Scar was picking off State Alchemist left and right. Besides the obvious, the similiarities don't go far enough to matter." replied Mustang, shifting through a few files before sliding a few across the table. Realizing her mistake, she quickly withdrew them, her cheeks becoming rosy red because of the mishap.
"You said disappearances; what do you mean?" The blind man questioned, coking his head quizzically as she continued.
"Obvious enough isn't it? The victims simply disappear. If these are murders then the killer doesn't leave behind a single trace; not a drop of blood, no sign of a struggle, nothing. We have no allusions as to where they may be taking the bodies or why, if indeed, there is any reason beyond it serving as a perverse trophy of accomplishment."
"Lovely, anything else?"
"The disappearances are completely random as far as we can tell. So far it hasn't been limited to just one distinctive group; everyone seems to be at risk, military or otherwise. Age doesn't seem to be a factor either… the only thing that seems to matter is convenience." The woman finished, leaning back with an objective expression, "I was hoping you would be able to straighten things out for me. This is a list of all the known victims and their addresses."
"Of course; I'll look into matters right away." Kross said, rising shakily from his chair and leaning over the desk; he snatched the papers from her hands and tucked them away in his inner right coat pocket before he turned to leave.
Her parting words followed him out the door, "I'm counting on you Air Raid Alchemist." Kross smiled as he closed the door behind him; Robin Mustang, daughter of the legendary General Roy Mustang and his wife Riza Mustang… it was always a pleasure.
Kross made his way down the otherwise empty hallway, thumbing the head of his cane idly as he decided what approach would be the best given the current situation. His mind became absorbed in the problem as he ambled along, purposefully avoiding any junction that would serve to spirit him towards other people. It was times like this that he most enjoyed being alone and he momentarily fumbled with the idea of returning to the library to think, but decided against it.
A man shuffled by quickly, bumping forcefully into the blind Alchemist as he meandered along the corridors. Kross braced himself against the wood paneled wall to prevent himself from falling, a carefree smile perched on his face; the rule of 1/3 played itself as always through his mind, serving as an annoying distraction to his more important work.
His nostrils flared momentarily as he pushed himself more steadily to his feet and he raised an eyebrow. The musky, almost oppressive, scent of human sweat was heavy upon the air. Considering it was a relatively cool day outside the only possible explanation for someone to be perspiring so profusely was stress. Kross pushed it out of his mind, it was unimportant. Certainly nothing worth dwelling on compared to his current assignment.
"And yet…" He muttered as he glanced back the way he had come, the sound of heavy shuffling feet retreating down the corridor still ringing in his ears. After a moment of hesitation, he finally continued in the direction he had been going before, shrugging his inhibitions away as the rhythmic tap of his cane sounded throughout the now silent hall.
The first step was obviously to visit the addresses on the list and interview the family members and friends of the victims; if possible find some kind of connecting thread between them all. Well, that was really the second step; the first step was actually to find someone blessed with the power of sight that could help him figure out said addresses. He knew it was going to boring and monotonous work, but he didn't really have much of a choice… besides, it was a very singular problem that alluded towards something much bigger.