Roy Mustang stood at attention as his eyes squinted through the darkness of the room. The air was stale and dense – almost suffocating – as it lay like a blanket over everyone in the enclosed space. The only door was bolted and guarded by one prison sentry – a tall, broad-shouldered man whose name Roy could not recall. There were no windows to illuminate the small area. There was one light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, providing just enough light to see what sat underneath it: a chair.
Strapped down in the chair was a young man with honey-blond hair, swept up into a high ponytail. His amber-colored eyes seemed to be boring holes into the prison warden's head as he approached the chair. Roy could see the blond man's mismatched hands clenched into fists beneath the restraints. Sweat ran down Roy's neck as his stomach swooped wretchedly. He watched intently as the warden slowly walked around the chair, circling the prisoner like a shark would circle its prey.
"Edward Elric," the warden's voice boomed, echoing throughout the room, "You are here because it is time you fulfilled the rest of your sentence. We can't have you escaping again, so we have no choice but to cut to the chase."
Pure wrath burned within Ed's eyes, his mouth twisted into a snarl, teeth bared. All of his fury was being directed at the warden, and Roy honestly did not understand how the warden was not fearing for his own life. He had been on the receiving end of that look before, and it was not something he would wish to face again for the rest of his days.
"There is a list of inmates on death row, and it goes in order from the inmates who committed the oldest crimes to be executed first. From there on, the inmates who committed the most recent crimes are placed on the bottom of the list. But since you escaped, Elric," the warden sneered, a manic gleam in his eye as he turned to face Ed, "You've moved up on my priority list."
He bent at the waist, looking into Edward's eyes as he smiled. "You're going to pay for your crimes, Edward Elric. You're going to pay for killing those people. Admit it. We haven't gotten a confession out of you yet, but your time is running out. You killed all those people, because you're a sick, twisted animal."
"Liar!" Ed growled, his voice dangerously low. "You're the sick, twisted fuck – blaming innocent fucking people for the corrupted police force's murders!" He writhed against the restraints, scrabbling to find some kind of weak spot – just one – that's all he'd need to get free.
The warden's predatory smile grew, his yellow teeth bared in a tell-all way. Ed's accusations fell on deaf ears as the executioner filled the syringe with fluid.
"Edward Elric, you are to understand that you are being executed by lethal injection. You are permitted to speak any last words at this time," the warden stated in a droll tone as he stepped back to watch.
"Fuck you, you lying piece of shit," Ed's voice rang out.
The warden raised his eyebrows, shrugging as he did so. He gave a noncommittal hum and nodded to the executioner, who in turn gave a barely noticeable nod of acknowledgment. The syringe was filled with fluid and ready to be administered.
The executioner edged forward cautiously, keeping a watchful eye on the prisoner as he did so. It was little better than approaching a trapped tiger. Ed's teeth were bared ferociously, and the man with the needle did little to hide his fear from everyone. Anxiety was radiating off of him in waves across the room, and Roy felt a prickle of unease run throughout his entire body.
"Warden, I apologize for interfering, but I had hoped to get the chance to speak with the prisoner, as he shot and nearly killed my work partner, Officer Hughes," Roy's deep, smooth tone cut through the tension like a knife.
The warden regarded him for a moment, inclining his head in his subordinate's direction before setting his mouth in a thin, grim line.
"Of course, Sergeant Mustang. I'm sure Mr. Elric wouldn't mind postponing the inevitable for a little while longer," he said in an arrogant tone. He gave a tight smile and stepped to the side to make way for Mustang.
Roy strode over to the chair, looking pointedly at the restraints used to hold the young man to the chair. A thick strap wrapped over his chest secured his upper body and upper arms to the chair. An equally thick strap wrapped around his midsection, securing the core of his body and forearms to the chair. His arms were turned so that his forearms were facing up so as to give the executioner easy access to his veins. The restraints, however, were not so tight that it would cut off circulation; the lethal chemicals would still have to travel throughout his bloodstream in order to kill him.
His legs were strapped down as well. Roy nodded to Ed, who sat there, eyeing him carefully. Roy should have felt in control. For fuck's sake, Ed was bound to a chair with no possible way to cause anybody any harm, and Roy still felt as if it was the other way around. He always felt as if those eyes could see right into his mind – into his soul, even. But there was no possible way for Edward Elric to escape his impending death. Not this time.
Four Months Earlier...
"Oh, Roooy, look what I've got!"
Mustang furrowed his brow, rubbing his temple with two elegant fingers. "What is it, Hughes?"
The bespectacled man practically waltzed up to Roy's desk, a stack of photographs in hand. They landed on the desk with a fwap, and Roy tried his damnedest not to sigh out of pure exasperation.
"Elysia got a new tricycle this weekend, courtesy of Santa, of course! Look at how adorable she is. She looks so grown-up! She's growing up so fast," Hughes gushed, finishing with a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.
Roy allowed a minuscule smile to tug at the corners of his mouth as he glanced at the photograph on top. In the photo, Elysia was also wearing her new red pea coat Roy had bought for her. She was laughing in the picture, a twinkle in her eyes as she looked at the camera. Roy would admit that Elysia was adorable, but after seeing thirty or so pictures of her at least every other day, he had reached his limit a long time ago.
"Yes, Hughes, very cute," came the absent-minded reply. Roy's mouth was on autopilot as he focused on the task at hand, searching through a tall stack of papers.
His coworker regarded him with inquisitive green eyes, though Hughes already knew what he was up to.
"There's nothing in that pile that's going to help us on this case, Roy."
Mustang quirked an elegant eyebrow and shook his head in defeat. "I know. I just don't see how we aren't turning up anything. No clues, no answers, not even any real trail to follow."
He leaned back in his chair, grabbing the newspaper off of the desk and holding it close enough to read. Huge titles splashed across the front page, meant to grab people's attention so that they could feed their morbid curiosity.
CENTRAL'S SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!
He read further down the page, anger bubbling to the surface once more. He always felt the same gut-wrenching anger whenever he saw that the serial killer had struck again. This would be the fifth victim since October. It was the end of December, and the police still had no leads.
One person had come forward as a witness to one of the crimes, only being able to describe the killer as a young, short man. It had been dark, so the middle-aged woman hadn't been able to see much else, and she had high-tailed it out of harm's way as quickly as possible – driving to the police station to describe the scene she had witnessed.
The police had thanked the woman for her time and courage and sent her on her merry way. Less than a week passed by, and she had been found dead in the dumpster behind a grocery store. Carved into the metal of the dumpster was the word RAT. The scene had been gruesome to say the least, and Roy's stomach had churned with guilt. Maybe if they had sent someone to watch her house or even relocated her, it wouldn't have happened.
Somehow, the word had spread around the city that the serial killer would murder anyone who dared to run to the police. That had quickly put an end to Roy's hope of any more witnesses coming forward. Of course, if anyone did come forward, the police force would handle it much more efficiently this time around. The witness would be placed in a protection program and relocated to a safer place, but no amount of reassuring was going to make anyone feel safe with the chaos that was going on.
Roy's eyes slipped shut as his headache intensified. His eye twitched as he heard the shuffle of boots on the hardwood floor, and he peeked out of one eye to see his best friend grabbing his coat off of the rack.
"Leaving already?" inquired Roy, frowning minutely when Hughes waved a dismissive hand.
"I promised Gracia that I'd be home in time to go shopping with her and Elysia. The stores are all doing after-Christmas sales and whatnot," he explained, slipping into his black coat. He turned back to the coat rack and stretched up to grab his hat from the top. He pulled it on over his hair, the flaps on the sides covering his ears.
"You look like an overgrown child," said Roy, but there was no real malice in his tone. The things Hughes sometimes wore to the office never ceased to amuse him, and he would poke fun at his friend almost every chance he got.
Hughes shrugged, grinning. "Say what you want, but my ears are nice and toasty." He waved a quick goodbye as he strolled out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Roy shook his head and gazed back down, scowling as he did so. He studied the file on top, each word he read slipping through his mind without leaving a single trace. He was tired. He was tired of wasting so much time on what should be a simple case. There should be some sort of trail, whispers of who could possibly be behind such heinous crimes, or at the very least some sort of pattern.
Serial killers would usually stick to some sort of pattern. They would kill at certain events, target a specific profile of people, or stalk their victims for a while before pursuing them. No, this serial killer had no pattern whatsoever. The only thing the victims had in common was that they were all adults. No children had been killed, at least not yet.
The police had found victims in the river, lying in a gutter on the street, in a dumpster, in the woods, and in a parking lot. They had all been killed in different ways, but one thing remained the same: they all had a number carved into the skin on the underside of their wrists. The number corresponded with the order in which they were killed. The first victim they found had had a number one carved into his skin. The rest of the victims followed suit as two, three, four, and five.
It was a nightmare that no one could have seen coming. Central was such a quiet city, and as far as crimes went, small robberies were the worst of them...until Central's Serial Killer came along. The police were working their asses off, trying to catch even a hint of who it could be or where they would strike next – but they were always too late.
Roy sighed, leaning back in his chair. He knew they would catch the killer eventually, but how many more innocent people had to die before they were able to? It ate at him every night when he laid down. Every night, he went to sleep wondering if he would be awoken by yet another emergency call, telling him that there had been yet another victim of the killer. One thing was for sure – Roy would be glad when it was all over.