This was written sometime in October of 2008. It was mostly a practice for a larger story to come, a sort of RP with a good friend 3 We decided to atart it over from this point, though. Oh well.
This is really my first Fic ever, so.. yeah ^-^ be nice.
Sanctuary; in a blur of blue and white, he streaks through the city. Running, forever running, knowing all too well the hand he has been dealt. If only… if only he can get there before… if only he ceases his chance to warn them… he doesn't even register his own fate.
Turning to address his companion, he can not comprehend what he sees. Something… some subtle message leaks through her façade. Something is wrong here, and a million little things emerge from the depths of his mind.
And then it clicks.
This realization slows his pace to a slow walk, then an abrupt stop. No. Impossible… it can't be…
Shaking his head, he snaps his mind back to attention, dismissing the troubling thoughts that could compromise everything. He knows not what to think, blaming this phenomenon on his tarnished glasses, and continues running, and pushing his soul to the limit in order to protect the ones he loves.
Blood splatters the pavement, dark malevolent splotches shattering the innocence of the night. He thoughtlessly raises a palm to the wound on his arm that he'd received earlier, wincing as the contact sends his nerves into a shocked throb. Bearing his teeth and pushing onward, looking past the burning white blotches obscuring his vision, his pounding steps echo through the seemingly deserted city as he races time.
Dashing around another corner, he finds his quarry; ironic, that an ordinary phone booth is now involved in the matters of life and death. Screeching to a halt and rushing through the open door of the booth, almost crashing clean through the glass wall, he takes no time to breathe, and continues ignoring his wounds. His mind racing, barely able to concentrate, he fumbles for a fistful of coins. He needs to hurry up.
Flipping and fluttering to the ground, the man drops something in his haste. Landing face up, a slightly bent photograph settles on the cold phone booth floor. He doesn't seem to notice. A splash of color entering this solemn night, the smiling faces of the man's family light up the gloom. His daughter beams through the borders of the picture, held by her mother, and this catches his companion's attention. Watching the man struggle to find the correct combination of coins, the lieutenant bends down to retrieve the fallen portrait.
A wicked smile curls her lips.
"WHAT? What do you mean he's gone!?" the man shouts into the receiver.
She can hear a muffled reply, but can not distinguish what had been said on the other line. What a shame.
Cursing his superior officer's name, he turns to the lieutenant. Abruptly, she cuts him off mid sentence.
"Lieutenant Colonel, I think we should go somewhere safe."
"Yeah… you're right…" he starts.
Suddenly, with a flash, he raises a knife to her exposed throat. Threatening her, he explains what he has seen; he has looked past her facade, exposed her in his own mind. With no trouble at all, he was able to tap into her very soul, able to read what was hidden past her masking features. After all, he had been able to crack through the fortress Roy Mustang had built around his inner self, so why not her flimsy walls?
And that was it.
She knew it was hopeless now. And so she surrendered. Smiling, turning to face the man, she exposed herself for who she was, altering her image in plain view of his incredulous eyes. A shape–shifter.
That was it. He needed nothing more to convince him. With a sudden, slashing blow, he slit her throat.
Falling backwards, hitting the ground with a sickening thud, she lay twitching, the pool of blood spreading out under her. She was gone.
Inner turmoil rising, he walks away disgusted with himself. What a horrid night this was beginning to be. Trying to shake it off, he quickens his pace.
…only to abruptly spin back around, astonished eyes scanning the darkness.
"You're right Hughes. Maybe this is a more fitting end."
The glowing form of his own wife emerges from the shadows, the lieutenant's corpse gone. The man gapes in surprise, fear. A white light still surrounds his wife, crackling and dissipating with each passing moment as the sinister transformation concludes. She clutches a gun, such a brutal object that looks so out of place in her gentile hands. An evil grin crosses her features, turning such a beautiful face into a scowl of triumph.
Still stunned the man does not move, does not know how to even react. He simply stands there, fear clearly showing through his expressive emerald eyes. As chills course through his veins, blood turning to ice, he begs forgiveness from those he could not save.
A deafening shot cracks through the air, and the ground seems to be rushing towards the man's vision. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters to him anymore.
With a grin, the fiend begins to glow once more. The air distorts, and a light seems to shine from nowhere, yet everywhere at once. The anomaly goes unnoticed by the deserted area of the city, perhaps the only witness being the square itself.
The glow fades, revealing a new figure, taller this time. Dressed in royal blue, with bleach white trim, a man ranked Lieutenant Colonel slinks out from under the streetlamp. Emerald eyes flash in the faint light, as the man reaches up to adjust his glasses.
Returning the beloved photograph to his pocket, Maes Hughes stalks off through the city once more.