Alright- the basic premise behind this fic is one I've been tossing around in my head for a while- thirteen new Homunculi have been developed, each one based on a fictional character from a different fandom. It's set post-brotherhood, after Ed and Winry have successfully copulated. See if you can guess which homunculus is who! There'll be a chapter for each one- their motifs are the nine circles of hell, and the four horsemen of the apocalypse, because I thought that complemented the sins :). Enjoy, and review if you like!

The bar is maybe a little grimy, most defiantly cheep; but it was the nearest place after Ed got the call, and that was all it needed to be. The Fullmetal clasped a half-pint, willing his hands not to shake with fury and misery at the returning emotional floodgate.

"They're back."

That was how Roy had started the call. Edward wished he had picked up right away, but this wasn't a novel. The horror only sunk in gradually, like his brain was absorbing it in doses, as Roy explained away in a rough and no-nonsense manner. It was surreal how he was talking about this so easily. It shouldn't seem like just another military complication. Mustang should have burst into tears. But, no, they were dealing with the problem rationally, like a well-organized military nation should, with plenty of protocol.

That was the word Roy had used that pushed Ed over the edge. Protocol

How could there be protocol for dealing with homunculi? How could there be homunculi at all? He, of course, had asked the latter, and had been answered with a tired and clipped, "Come, and you'll know," then the sound of a receiver meeting a mouthpiece, a brief stare at the wallpaper, and a stagger out of the door and into the first bar that caught his eye.

Edward really started to cry into his drink, then bit it down. He didn't want to be here anyway, he wasn't one to drown his sorrow.

But a problem this big…

There was no avoiding it. He left the beer untouched, paid his tab, and began a dreamlike sleepwalk into the car, and to… he didn't know what. After all they had went through to neutralize these creatures, Edward didn't know if he could handle the stress of another hostile homunculus. And Roy said the beast in their custody had hinted at the presence of more. It was practically Sisyphean, a joke in poor taste. Elric wasn't laughing.

"Fullmetal."

"C-"

Ed stopped himself, almost smiling. He had almost called Mustang Colonel, a slip he had sworn mentally not to make, once Roy had achieved his life goal.

"Fuhrer."

"How are the children?"

"Good."

"And the wife?"

"Fine."

God, it felt strange to here him ask that.

There was no banter, no feeling of reunion, apart from one's vague mental remarks on the other. Roy's explained (a pained enterior trying to leak out of his face, to no avail) that the homunculus in the interrogation room had confessed right away to being a somewhat infamous serial killer Ed had never heard of. He had come completely quietly, after a short chase in East City that ended in an ambush, and was shipped almost immediately to Central for questioning. Edward and Alphonse were considered experts on the subject apparently, and were both asked to assist with determining the creature's origins. Al was due to arrive the next morning.

"-You are not bound in any way," Finished Roy, "But… we need all the knowledge we can get."

Elric's gold eyes tried to get a hold on Mustang's blue. The Fuhrer immediately turned away. Just how much were the years wearing on him. "This way," Roy beckoned.

I sit, tapping my claws on the fake wood, and Fuhrer, along with his famous ex-alchemist buddy enter the room. They're all very serious and get rather loud when I don't respond right away. I choose what questions I answer, thank you very much. It just so happens that one jumps out at me.

"How many people have you killed?"

The Elric guy asks it. His face is that mask of rage I'm so used to seeing. Why can't these military people have any other reactions to me? I'd love to see an angsty sob, or a bitter laugh at the irony, or, most of all, forgiveness. Not because I'm sorry or anything, I just think it's one of my favorite emotions. It's second to curiosity. My least favorite emotion is boredom, in case you haven't guessed.

Anyway, I answer the question. "You mean humans?"

"Of course? Who else? Homunculi?"

"No. I don't feel much in the mood for explaining the nuances of where I come from."

Mustang slams his fist down on the table like an ox. Or like a bull. Hey, I just made the connection with his name. Funny stuff.

"Where do you come from, demon?" He says. Passionate guy. I make the decision not to taunt. Much.

"You've hinted at it," I reply. "I was created special by Cocytus. She split her soul into seven vessels, following the example of... well, you've met him."

There's a sharp intake of breath, from both. I love it. I'm really getting the hang of social interaction, let me tell ya.

"I'm not one of her children, y'see, just an ex-ally," I say, scratching my neck. "I'm called Limbo."

They exchange subtle looks. Glad to see I've made my mark. The Fullmetal is shaking with fury. "So there are nine of you in total?" he asks bluntly.

I nod. "She wants to make more, I think."

"She won't get the chance," snaps Roy.

He's louder then I expect that time, and I give a little mental jump. I'm glad I don't have any facial muscles. That really works in my favor during the interrogations.

They leave the room to talk in private, with the obligatory "We'll be back soon". I'm glad to get out early, makes this a whole lot easier. After a while, the guard shoves a tray of food through the slot.

Oh my god.

How did they know? It's my favorite treat.

Before I can partake in that wonderful taste and texture, I make sure to whisper through the slot, "Hey, buddy, what's your name?"

The guard doesn't answer, of course. It's just as well. That would be an unsubtle, if fun, escape plan, to write that fellow's moniker in my special book. I reach into myself, and pull out the one thing they couldn't confiscate. It's a notebook, in which only a few names are written. And causes of death, or course. Laughing to myself, I flip through it, reminiscing. I won't kill anyone important, though. That's too much interference, I think to myself. I won't get to see all these marvelous politics unfold, these hilarious human emotions work. Not if I kill anyone that might have a major role. I only allowed myself to get captured so I could see these two up close. But I have other stuff.

Anyway, long story short, I grab the dented apple from the tray, leaving the rest, which I don't need. I'll store this one for later, I think, and drop the glistening fruit, along with the notebook, into the void of my chest. I then walk right through the wall, shattering their illusion of control (once anyone decides to reenter).

Things are really heating up, and I'm able to see it all hit center stage.

Humans are so Interesting.