A/N: I meant to post this yesterday, since it is a horror fic, but I was so busy that I completely forgot... This fic was designed after 'hack and slash' type films. It was an interesting write. I hope you enjoy it. Happy late Halloween. :)
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Hunted
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Roy stared blankly down at the sight before him. In his life he'd seen similar scenes of grotesque horror before. The work of Barry the Chopper was the only thing comparable to this particular scenario, but even that couldn't hold a candle to this evidence of monstrosity. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed several times with little success.
As if the horrifying act itself hadn't been enough, the room...
He closed his eyes in an attempt to block it all out, if only for a moment, but the image remained burned in his mind and the smell... Oh, the smell alone could have caused him to wretch uncontrollably if he'd eaten anytime within the last five hours, but luckily he'd gotten the call before he'd had a chance to have dinner.
Luckily...
Perhaps it was the only thing that could even remotely come across as 'good' in this whole mess.
"You can see why we've only allowed a few up here," a voice said, and Roy opened his eyes and glanced at the older man standing beside him. Colonel Douglass had been assigned to the case because it involved military personnel, and because of...
Clearing his throat, Roy nodded silently and looked back into the room. There were signs of a struggle—a lamp smashed on a wall, chairs turned over, a small table destroyed, and the fabric of the couch shredded as if someone had slashed through it several times with a dull knife.
The amount of damage was rather surprising because the man who lived here—the man who had lived here—wasn't a fighter. He was a gentle and intelligent man... But he was a soldier, and he'd fought for his life the best that he could. Unfortunately, it hadn't been enough...
Roy stepped into the room and felt the carpet give unnaturally under his boot, accompanied by a sickeningly wet sound. He looked down and saw a light reddish liquid oozing up from the carpet to pool around his boot.
"The water was left on," Colonel Douglass said behind him, then added unnecessarily, "We turned it off."
Nodding, Roy took another step forward and tried to block the sound he was making from his mind. He took another step toward the body that was sprawled unnaturally on the floor. A deep red stain—kept wet by the water—surrounded the corpse. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, but he couldn't. It was his duty to be here for his subordinate, and also because of... But he wouldn't think of that now. This moment was for the dead. The living still had time to spare.
With a deep breath to give him courage, Roy let himself study the dead man before him. Revulsion filled him at what had been done, but sadness and pain also pricked at him. He was responsible for those under him, and he couldn't help feel as if there should have been something he could have done to prevent this.
He heard wet footsteps beside him, then, "Is it him?"
Identify the body first.
There were procedures to follow. They were soldiers, and soldiers didn't grieve... no, of course they didn't. They were expected to perform emotionlessly in whatever game their superiors thought should be played.
Roy clenched his teeth and gave the body another good look. It had been shredded as easily as the couch had been. The stomach had been ripped open and emptied—it's softer contents spread around the room, but he wouldn't think about that now... one thing at a time...
The arms had been removed—torn from the body. The corpse's throat had been brutally crushed; a few bones stuck out of the skin at odd angles. The jaw had been broken and hung at an odd angle, and the nose had been smashed against the face—blood crusted around the area and dried in rivulets down the face. Yet, as disgusting as that was, it was the eyes that held the most gruesome tale. They'd been gouged out—punctured. Blood had dried around the eye sockets where it had drained out of the skull. And the top of the head... It had been cut open at the forehead and the brain extracted...
Roy closed his eyes and turned his head away. "It's him..." he whispered hoarsely. "Master Sergeant Kain Fuery..." He felt a small shiver run through him as if speaking the name made it more real than just looking at the defiled body.
"I'm sorry..." Colonel Douglass said in a less businesslike tone.
Roy nodded, letting his eyes lose focus, not wanting to see the room around him now that he knew the time had come.
"About the other..." Douglass continued hesitantly. No time for grief...
Clearing his throat, Roy let his vision focus and gave the room another look, this time letting himself take in those things he had blocked out. The broken window, the walls smeared with blood—most likely from the innards that lay scattered around the room, and then...
"Colonel...?" Douglass prompted.
Forcing himself to look at what he knew Douglass wanted him to, Roy let his eyes settle on one section of wall. Whatever had been used to shred the couch, and Kain Fuery's body, had been used to gouge into the walls—making deep grooves in the paint and drywall.
M U S T A N G
Blood, now dry, had dripped from the letters as if creating arrows down to what lay on the floor. Fuery's brain had been laid below the letters and next to it, the man's arms. A gouged '1' on the wall above the brain, and a '2' above the arms. Beside that was a '3' and below that a crudely scratched replica of the array Mustang used to perform flame alchemy.
Crude... but chillingly accurate and precise.
"I think someone's trying to send you a message," Douglass said, stating the obvious.
Roy glanced at Douglass and fixed him with a flat stare. "I can't imagine what could have given you that idea." He was surprised to find that his voice was steady despite the shaking he felt inside.
Douglass chose to ignore Roy's impertinence and asked, "Any ideas about what it all means?"
Roy looked back at the wall, trying to detach himself from the situation as much as possible; but it had been a long day at work and it was late. He was tired and hungry, and it had been his subordinate who had been murdered. Not to mention the fact that it was his name scraped into the wall.
"Well, I would say it's obvious that whoever this person is, they've decided to target me."
"Obviously," Douglass said. "My guess is that they're not just targeting you, but that they want you to suffer and be afraid before they actually 'get' you."
Roy nodded. He'd thought the same thing.
"What do you suppose is meant by the brain and the arms?" Douglass asked, squatting down to get a better look at the area.
Roy followed his example and pondered on that for a moment, then murmured, "Brain... one... arms... two... then me... hmmm..." What did that have in connection with Kain Fuery? He thought about the man and who he'd been and it was as if a light switch had been turned on in his mind.
"Kain's abilities lay in his mind; in his ability to puzzle things out… He was brainy..." Roy pointed at the brain. "He wasn't a physical fighter..." He pointed to the arms.
"So you think whoever this is, they're going to get rid of your brainy staff first, then the brawny ones?" Douglass asked, and Roy felt his blood chill within him. He hadn't gotten that far in his conclusions, but it made sense... If someone was trying to get rid of him, then it would make sense to get rid of the ones who could possibly figure out who the person was, then get rid of the people who could physically protect him. But in what category would that put his subordinates...?
Kain and Falman were definitely brains. Breda was right on the line, but Roy thought that the 'brain' category would probably fit him best. Havoc and Hawkeye were the brawns. They were his guns. Ed could easily fit in both categories, but luckily he and his brother were out of Central at the moment. Out of Amestris actually, and had been for the last few months. They weren't due back for another two or three months, and for that Roy felt relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about them.
"We need to warn them," he said slowly as the implications dawned on him. Then more urgency filled him and he jumped to his feet. "We need to warn them," he repeated, louder this time. Roy looked around for the phone and saw that the base had been smashed against one of the walls and that the receiver was on the other side of the room.
"Falman is in the dorms too," Roy said quickly, heading toward the door. "He's on the next floor up, I believe." He'd get Falman and use the phone in his room to call the rest of his subordinates. He'd have them meet him at his office where they'd figure out a plan.
Roy was already out the door and heading up the stairs when he heard Douglass following behind. "If this maniac really is going after all your men, we might already be too late." That was not something Roy wanted to think about. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle another scene like the one he'd just left.
He ran down the hallway, then pounded loudly on Falman's door. "FALMAN!" Roy bellowed. "Open up!" He continued to hammer against the door for a moment, then shouted, "We're coming in!" The door was locked, but that was no deterrent for him. Pulling on his gloves, Roy snapped, blasting the door open. He stepped forward into the room, then instantly turned away; eyes wide and stomach clenching.
"Oh, Lord..." Douglass murmured, turning away as well. It took a moment for Roy to compose himself enough to turn back around. A large array was shredded into the carpet and the compounds of everything within it had been broken down. Fabric from furniture was decayed and thin, the wooden end tables were rotted and falling apart. The carpet within the array was mostly gone, showing that the array was scraped into the flooring beneath it.
In the center, a thin pole of rusted metal held what was left of Vato Falman upright. It looked as if the pole entered the body through the anal cavity, though Roy couldn't know for sure without examining it. What was left of the military uniform the man had been wearing was as aged and fragile as anything else within the array.
Falman's body was aged too, the wrinkled skin sagging—almost melting—down from his frame. His skull and other bones showed in some places where the skin had thinned and torn from the sagging. His mouth and eyes were open wide as if he'd died in pure horror and agony. His insides had emptied out onto the floor from a gaping hole in the man's middle. It looked as if the same work had been done on Falman as had been done on Fuery, but the gouges had widened at the breakdown of the cell structure. Barely visible through the hole was the pole running through Falman's body.
"He's an alchemist..." Roy said numbly. It was the only thing that had made it through the haze in his mind. He should have known. Who else would have been able to draw his array so precisely? Not only was this person an alchemist, but he was a talented one as well...
"It would appear so..." Douglass said weakly. "We should... we should examine this..." He sounded reluctant, but resolute.
A thin thread of irrational fear wound through Roy as he watched Douglass start toward into the room. For a moment, he couldn't seem to explain why he felt it, then his conscious mind connected with his instinct and terror flooded through him.
"NO! STOP!" he shouted, but it was too late.
As soon as Douglass's foot connected with the array, it reactivated, bathing the room in a brilliant red glow. The already decayed objects in the array began to further decompose, but that wasn't what caught Roy's eyes.
Douglass screamed shrilly and fell over into the array. His clothes began to rot, and his skin became wrinkled and spotted with age. The glass in his glasses crumbled to dust and his frames rotted over his bulging eyes. The eyeballs formed cataracts before shriveling inside of his skull. The pole holding Falman's corpse—now nothing but a crumbling skeleton—crashed down behind Douglass as his putrefying skin began to melt disgustingly from his frame. The shrieks of terror and torment echoed loudly down the hall and Roy could distantly hear soldiers shouting and running up the stairs.
Roy was fixed to the spot. He couldn't move. All he could do was watch in fixed horror as Colonel Douglass shriveled and died before his eyes. And then the screams and thrashing stopped, and it was as if he was released from an invisible hold. Turning, Roy dropped to his knees and began to dry heave. He was aware of the soldiers in the hallway now and he waved a hand at them while working to stop his body from trying to purge itself.
"Don't... in... room..." he managed to get out.
He could hear the men's sounds of disbelief and shock at what they saw inside. Two of them joined Roy in his retching, and Roy faintly wondered if these men would have passed out if they'd just witnessed what Roy had.
Finally, Roy was able to get a hold of himself. Weak and shaking, he stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I need a phone..." he told one of the young soldiers.
"Yes, sir," the man said, saluting; then he marched resolutely down the hall and began banging on a door. It opened and Roy could see the soldier talking animatedly with the soldier who lived in that room before waving for Roy to come.
Roy hurried down the hall and in moments he had a working phone in hand. Breda would be next. He was sure of it. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. One ring became five, and five became ten. Just when Roy decided that he wasn't going to get an answer, Breda's voice sounded through the receiver.
"Hello..." It was whispered and nervous.
"Breda, it's Mustang." There was a long moment of silence. "Breda?"
"Colonel..." Breda whispered, a note of shrill fear pricking through.
"Breda, what's happening?" Roy asked urgently.
Another long moment of silence, then, "Colonel... You gotta help me... he's crazy... he..."
When Breda didn't say anything else, Roy said, "Who? Who is it?" He could hear the man breathing heavily into the phone. "Breda? Talk to me..."
"Colonel... you won't believe it. It's—" But at that moment the line went dead.
"Breda? Breda!" Roy slammed the phone down, then looked at the soldier who had been under Douglass's command. Urgently, he instructed him to find another phone and to get men to Lieutenants Breda, Havoc, and Hawkeye's place of residence right away.
Picking up the phone again, Roy dialed Havoc's number. The man picked up, sounding lazy and unconcerned.
"'Ello," Havoc answered.
"Havoc!" Roy snapped.
"Colonel?"
"Are you alright?"
"Eh... yeah... why wouldn't I be?" Havoc asked.
"Get out of there. I'm calling Hawkeye after I get off the phone with you. I want you both to meet me at headquarters."
"Now?" Havoc asked, sounding surprised.
"No, next month. Yes, now," Roy said in frustrated exasperation. Couldn't Havoc hear the urgency in his voice?
"Okay, boss... I gotcha..." Havoc said uneasily.
"And Havoc?" Roy said before the man could hang up.
"Yeah, boss?
"Bring a weapon and go as if your life depended on it."
"Yes, sir," Havoc said.
Roy ended the call, then began dialing Hawkeye's number. A trickle of sweat dripped down his forehead and he wiped it away with his sleeve. He kept telling himself that there was nothing he could do for Breda now. If that maniac was already there, then there was no way he'd be able to get there in time. He'd done what he could for him... but that still didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at him...
"Hello? Riza speaking," Hawkeye said easily.
"Lieutenant," Roy said quickly.
"Sir?" She was instantly business-like.
"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.
There was a moment of silence in which Roy could feel her confusion, then, "Yes, sir... I'm fine..."
"You need to get out of there. I'm heading to Headquarters after I get off the phone with you. Hopefully you will meet Havoc on the way, but if you don't... well, just... be careful."
"Yes, sir," Riza said, still sounding a little confused, but all business nonetheless.
"Bring your weapon and be wary. You're being hunted. You'll be briefed when we meet."
"Yes, sir," Riza repeated resolutely, then the line went dead.
Puffing nervously on his cigarette, Jean Havoc tried to peer into shadows and turned to look behind him on occasion as well. The colonel had sounded so... well... not frightened, the colonel didn't get frightened, but...
Jean stopped and cocked his head.
Nothing.
But... he thought he'd heard something... Maybe footsteps...
Shifting the riffle he held, Jean turned around and looked down the sidewalk. Each side of the road was well lit by streetlamps, but there were still plenty of bushes and fences that someone could hide behind.
Jean thought of the way the colonel's voice had sounded on the phone—rushed and almost panicked... The thought of Mustang being so unnerved made Jean feel incredibly ill at ease. He took another deep drag off his cigarette, then stopped and looked behind him again. The light in the streetlamps far off flickered, then died. He squinted his eyes and thought he saw, just for a moment, someone walking beyond the gloom, then another set of streetlamps died out.
Feeling more than just a little anxious—a feeling bordering on outright fear—Jean flicked his cigarette away, gripped the rifle tightly with both hands, and started to jog. His heart beat quickly in his chest and he could feel sweat start to prickle on his forehead, upper lip, underarms, and along his palms.
He heard a soft sizzling behind him. From that, and from how dim the already darkened night was starting to get, Jean knew that more of the streetlamps behind him had burnt out. Jean thought he could hear the measured footsteps of someone behind him—walking slowly, yet steadily toward him. His mind tried to tell him that it was probably just his imagination, but the frightened part of him was convinced that what he heard was real.
Increasing his pace, both from fear and from the fact that he saw headquarters just ahead, Jean pressed on. Glancing behind him as he ran, Jean saw that most of the streetlamps were dark, and only the ones closest to him were still lit.
And then he saw it again... Just a faint shadow, but there was most certainly someone there. As he reached the front doors of the main military building, Jean stopped and lifted his rifle.
"Who are you?!" he demanded.
There was no response. Just that steady sound of footsteps coming ever closer. The person—a black shadow in the darkness—didn't increase or decrease their pace.
"I'm a lieutenant in the Amestris military. I have orders to defend myself if necessary. If you don't speak up, I'll be forced to shoot," he called loudly. That hadn't been exactly what Colonel Mustang had said, but he wanted this person to speak up because with every footstep, Jean's nerves were becoming more frayed.
Something just wasn't right, and he could feel it...
Even with the threat, the person continued forward without speaking. With heart beating wildly—both out of nervousness and fear—Jean called, "I'm going to count to three. If you don't reply in that time, I'm going to be forced to shoot."
He paused and in that moment the last few streetlights fizzled, dimmed, then went dark. Now there were only the lights affixed above the doors and shining down on the flag.
Tightening his grip on the rifle, Jean called out, "ONE!" He waited for a moment, then, "TWO!" He was starting to shake a little now and his hands were so sweaty that it was hard to maintain his grip. Even if this person was a threat, it was still a person, and having to do the inevitable was never easy.
"THREE!" he shouted, and a moment later, Jean shot into the darkness. The dark shape stopped and he wondered if he'd hit his target. The black shape moved into a crouch and then after a moment, Jean blinked as he realized the darkness that had been the person had blended in with the night and was gone.
Or... maybe he only thought it was gone... Jean shot one more time, but he knew now that he was just being paranoid. With a sigh, Jean let his breath out and lowered the rifle. Whatever or whoever it was had disappeared... Yet that did little to lessen his uneasiness.
How could someone just disappear?! It wasn't possible, was it? He didn't think so. Maybe it had all been his imagination, but... if so... then what about the lights going out? And yet, even that didn't make sense. How could someone have had any affect on the streetlamps at all?
Shaking his head at himself, Jean turned toward the glass doors of Central Headquarters, then opened his eyes wide in shock as the glass shattered around a reaching metal hand—fingers sharp and claw-like—then in pain as those fingers dug into his chest and slipped between the bones of his ribcage.
Pain rolled over him in waves. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs were punctured in so many places that nothing was coming in and what little he had left was leaving him. His legs felt weak, and his hands went limp, letting go of the rifle.
A face was starting to appear in the blackness beyond the broken glass, and Jean would have gasped if he could have. Instead he felt the shock and disbelief mingle in with the fiery pain as the hand that had a hold of him gripped tightly onto his ribcage and pulled him forward into the dark building beyond.
Riza stopped and stared down at the large puddle of blood in front of the doors to Central Headquarters. It looked as if something had been dragged through the blood and into the building.
Little spots of blood flecked the bottom of the glass doors, but other than that there seemed to be no sign of anything having happened. No sign of a struggle... Where were the guards or the military police? Did they even know that this was here? That something had happened?
She lifted her pistol, tightening her grip, and looked cautiously around. The area was open, but it was well lit with the streetlamps and the lights that were affixed on the actual building itself. Looking up at the sky, Riza saw the pale, round disk that was the full moon hiding behind dark clouds. It peeked out for just a moment, then was gone again as the clouds moved.
With a sigh she returned her attention to the blood, then knelt down and touched her finger to the puddle. It was still warm. Whatever had happened here hadn't happened all that long ago...
Pressing her lips together, Riza stood and fished her keys from her pocket. Finding the one that would let her inside, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Beyond the glass she could see the streak of blood continue. There almost seemed to be half a boot print in some places, but she wasn't really sure with the darkness.
Closing the door and relocking it, Riza let herself through the second set of doors—made from a thicker and darkly tinted glass—then glanced around with her pistol ready. It was completely dark inside. Usually there was at least a small light near where the guard sat... Riza could feel her heart beat heavily in her chest. The situation was just... creepy.
"Hello?" Riza called, then crinkled her nose. There was a foul scent in the air... "Hello?" she called again, then began to carefully move to where the guard station was. Her foot touched something unexpectedly and if she hadn't been moving so slowly, she probably would have tripped.
Bending down, Riza extended her hand to examine what she'd run into, then recoiled in horror. It was a body, and it was still warm. Not only that, but it was damp with something that she could only assume was blood.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Riza reached down again and touched the corpse. The uniform was ripped to shreds and she could feel clumps of skin and bits of bone as she moved her fingers along the uniform to find the rank.
The man had been one of the night guards...
Taking a deep breath, Riza tried to think logically. If this was a guard, then there had to be a flashlight close by. Swallowing the revulsion that was accumulating in her throat, Riza moved her hand down to the man's waist to check for the flashlight that the guards normally carried on their belts.
She gave a small sigh of relief when she found it. Pulling it from the belt, Riza stood and clicked it on. She had to blink a few times to get used to the new light, then recoiled when the beam fell on the guard.
He had a look of shocked horror on his face. His body had been ripped to shreds; and while she'd known that from the feel, it was another thing altogether to actually see the carnage. Two other guards were lying beyond this one and they were just as mutilated as the first. It was as if a wild animal had descended upon them, ripping their innards from their bodies, and tearing bones from sockets. One man's eyes had been gouged out and his face scraped and sliced, making him unrecognizable.
Bile rose in Riza's throat and she felt the urge to throw up, but she was able to keep herself under control. She'd seen dead men before... she could handle this... And yet this wasn't the same. War had its own horrors, but it wasn't war. With war there was a reason—however much it may not have made sense—for the violence. These men had been brutally murdered, and for what?
Shaking her head in an effort to clear it, Riza moved toward the wall, trying to find the light switch. But when she found it, Riza saw that it was already turned on. Swallowing hard, she turned and pressed her back against the wall and moved the beam of the flashlight over the darkened foyer.
The light barely reached the far wall, but it was weak that far from the source. She lowered the beam and saw that the large streak of blood that had started from outside continued deep into the building. Riza let the beam follow the trail, then gasped when it touched on something.
For a moment, she couldn't believe her eyes, but she knew that her vision wasn't betraying her. She'd seen that exact rifle enough times to know to whom it belonged. To the untrained eye, if it was the same make and model, then it was the same weapon. But Riza knew firearms and had a keen eye for what made each weapon unique.
"Havoc!" she called, hearing the nervous tremor in her voice. The beam of light began to quiver and it took a moment for her to realize that it was her own shaking that was causing the movement. "Havoc!" she cried out again.
Her mind prodded her, telling her that it was very possible that she might find him if she moved the light further along the trail of blood, but she wasn't sure if she could make herself do it. The image of the dead guards came to Riza's mind and she didn't know if she could bear seeing someone so close to her in the same shape.
Swallowing hard, Riza pushed away from the wall and cautiously began to move into the large foyer of the building. She felt unnerved by the darkness and by the fact that she no longer had the safety of the wall behind her. Tightening her grip on the pistol, Riza let the beam of the flashlight rest on the smeared blood.
Riza found herself glancing from right to left and also behind her as she moved; not willing to let herself be caught unaware if at all possible. When she reached the rifle, Riza carefully knelt down on one knee to examine it. She had hoped she was wrong, but there was no mistake. This rifle belonged to Jean Havoc...
"Havoc?" she called out again, not really expecting an answer, but hoping for one nonetheless. Letting her breath out in a rush, Riza set her pistol down by her knee and quickly checked the rifle for ammunition. This particular rifle was one of the newer multi shot repeating rifles, and the last thing she wanted was for someone to pick it up after she had moved on and shoot her with it. But that wasn't something she needed to worry about. It was empty.
Putting the rifle down, Riza picked up her own weapon and began to walk deeper into the darkness, following the smear of blood. As she moved, she found that the grotesque smell was becoming stronger and she began breathing through her mouth to avoid the stench.
And then, the trail of blood ended, and the beam of her flashlight caught a bucket and the edge of a curved line... Stopping momentarily, Riza stared at the line, a foreboding feeling beginning to fill her.
Riza wasn't an alchemist, but she'd grown up with one and had lived around several. She didn't need to see the whole circle to know it was an array. With heart pounding, Riza moved forward, eyes on the array. It was large and complicated, and drawn with...
She swung the beam to the bucket and peered inside. There was a thick, reddish goo inside, and that was where the smell was coming from. At the edge of the beam of the flashlight, Riza saw something and moved the beam directly on it. With a quick intake of breath, she saw that it was a pile of torn and bloody clothes. Havoc's clothes...
Looking back into the bucket, the realization of what the ooze could be made of made her want to vomit. Not only that, but... She glanced at the array. That circle had been drawn from...
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said from right behind her. With a small gasp of surprise, Riza turned quickly, dropping the flashlight and readying her weapon to shoot, should it be necessary. At the same time, she felt hands push her roughly and she stepped backward a few steps, trying to regain her balance.
She didn't need to see the person who shoved her to know that they were dangerous. Taking aim as she tried to regain her footing, Riza shot once, then again. One bullet missed completely, but the second grazed the arm of her attacker, and she felt a moment of satisfaction. Regaining her balance, Riza felt a little more confident as she readied her pistol to shoot again.
It was only when the array beneath her began to glow that Riza realized her mistake. She'd forgotten about the array. The light illuminated the person before her and when she saw who it was, Riza felt her jaw drop.
"Good evening, Lieutenant Hawkeye," that horribly familiar voice said.
She tried to say something, but her voice caught as waves of pain rolled through her body. Letting go of her weapon, Riza dropped to her knees in agony.
"Did you know that accelerating the age of a substance is fairly easy to figure out?" The question seemed far away; yet, at the same time, loud in her ears. "Unfortunately, turning back the clock on any material has proved unfruitful."
Cries of pain filled the air; and, at first, Riza didn't realize that she was the one making the noise. A burning agony had spread over her whole body as her skin tightened and bones pulled in on themselves.
"Wouldn't it be great to be able to find a way to be young again?" that maddeningly polite voice said. "We could go back to the way things used to be—just pretend some things didn't happen..."
Her body thrashed and she felt her bowels release as her insides began to squeeze together. Her agonized scream was cut off as her lungs collapsed upon themselves. Unable to breathe, and as her body pulled in upon itself, Riza knew she only had less than a moment to live and she mentally begged for that time to pass quickly; so great was her pain.
The light of the array faded, and she heard a disappointed sigh. "Another failure... Unfortunate..."
Suddenly the sound of a lock clicking far away met her ears, then after a moment, "Lieutenant Hawkeye?! Lieutenant Havoc?!"
Riza's eyes widened slightly and she tried to get breath to call out, to warn him... But any attempt on her part was futile. The flashlight, its beam dimmed since being dropped, was on the floor in front of her, but her vision was clouding over and after a couple of seconds she could no longer see it.
"Our guest of honor has arrived. It would be impolite to keep him waiting."
And that was the last thing that Riza heard, before she was aware of nothing at all.
Roy closed the door and looked around the darkened foyer, gagging slightly at the foul odor. The silence and the oppressive darkness were unnatural, and he suddenly wished he'd taken advantage of the offer of help from the other soldiers. He'd declined, wanting to get here as quickly as possible, and had relied on the fact that there would be more soldiers here at Central Headquarters.
But now everything was dark—not a good sign. He wondered if the other soldiers had gotten through to the guards. Roy had instructed them to call to warn them, but he hadn't bothered staying around long enough to find out.
A small beam of light could be seen up ahead, but it was dim and didn't help much at all. An object lay on the floor between himself and the small light source, and Roy could see that the blood from outside continued on into the building.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye?! Lieutenant Havoc?!" Roy called. His voice echoed in the stillness, sounding hollow and eerie. Without thinking, Roy pulled on the bottoms of his gloves to secure their spot on his hands. It was as if he needed to remind himself that he wasn't defenseless.
Clenching his teeth together, Roy strode more confidently than he felt toward the object on the floor. He constantly looked around into the darkness, knowing that if he was being watched, someone could attack him without notice.
It didn't take long for Roy to make out that the object was a rifle. It was one of those weapons that you could put more than one bullet in; not like those old one shot types that had been standard issue back when he was in basic training. He still remembered when the military had switched to these... Roy had never been one for firearms, but both Havoc and Hawkeye had made a fuss over it.
He glanced around, feeling worried now. Hawkeye didn't use this type of weapon, but Havoc did... Where were his subordinates? Had they gone up to his office? He didn't even want to think about the question of whether they were alive or not. Of course they were alive, they were good soldiers... Roy swallowed, forcing himself to think positively. Standing up, Roy walked quickly toward the dim light source—a flashlight.
The disgusting odor that he'd smelled coming into the building only intensified as he approached the flashlight. Roy didn't make it to the light before he caught sight of the array and the fact that there was something on it.
Swallowing hard, Roy cautiously stepped forward, picked up the flashlight, then shone it directly onto the circle. In shock and horror he dropped it, and pressed a hand over his mouth. His stomach was empty from the grotesque sights he'd seen earlier, but he dry heaved anyway.
Riza Hawkeye, once so graceful and strong, was now horrifically shrunken. It was as if her bones had collapsed into themselves. Her legs and arms looked as if they'd tried to sink back into her torso. The skin over her face had stretched, and her eyes and mouth were open in a mask of terror and pain.
Gaining control of himself, Roy bent down and picked up the flashlight. As he did so, his eye caught on a round spot on the floor. It was as if a bucket of some sort had been there recently.
If he thought he could do it without stepping on the circle, Roy would have put his jacket over what was left of Hawkeye, but he couldn't, so he left her with a silent apology and a vow to find this lunatic and put a stop to the insanity. He glanced back at where the rifle lay. There was a good chance that Havoc was dead, but he wasn't going to believe it until he knew for sure.
Tightening his grip on the flashlight, Roy began to move toward the large staircase at the end of the large foyer. He normally took the elevator—being one to dislike wasting his energy, and liking the convince—but he felt that the grand staircase would be safer. Roy set one foot on the first stair, then stopped when he heard someone calling out.
"Help! Help! Someone!"
Roy frowned deeply. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it was Alphonse Elric who was calling, but his voice lacked the hollow sound that it usually carried, and also the Elric brothers were away on a mission right now. There was no way it could be Alphonse.
"Help!" the voice cried out again.
And yet, if Alphonse was here, that would mean Ed was here too... Did his hunter count Ed as one of his close subordinates? It didn't seem likely since Ed was normally gone, but...
Exhaling heavily, Roy hurried up the stairs. He had to stop for a moment at the top to get his breath, then looked around. Which way should he go? When he thought he heard something to his right, Roy decided to go that way and within a few minutes he heard the voice calling out again, this time more clear and distinct.
Part of him wanted to call back, to give reassurance, but that would give his location away, if the predator didn't already know where he was. For all Roy knew this could be some sort of trap... What he really should have done was to go for help instead of going alone, but he was here now, and someone was in trouble... He couldn't just turn away now.
Trying to keep the beam on the floor and also moving it around as he checked out his surroundings, Roy walked slowly. He'd seen enough of horrifically complicated arrays for the night. Stepping on one accidentally was not what he wanted to do. Whoever it was who was hunting him was a talented alchemist and Roy did not want to underestimate this person.
It didn't take long to find where he needed to go. Opening one of the doors in the hallway, Roy found himself in one of the large conference rooms. The long table used for meetings was gone, and so were all the chairs. Light from the full moon shone into the room and Roy was able to easily make out the large and intricate array that had been painted on the floor.
A bucket sat to one side and to the other was a small boy. His hands and ankles were tied and his head was lowered. Roy analyzed the situation quickly, noting where not to step, then moved into the room. At that moment, the boy lifted his head and stared at him.
"Colonel Mustang...?" the boy whimpered.
Roy drew in a quick breath as he got a better look at the boy's face. It most certainly looked like this could be Alphonse, and it definitely sounded like Alphonse, but it was impossible... wasn't it?
"Alphonse?" Roy breathed in disbelief.
"You shouldn't be here!" the boy cried out. "It's not safe! Just leave me!"
Roy shook his head. "I don't think so." He stepped carefully around the circle and made his way to the boy. Alphonse's wrists and ankles were bloody where the ropes held him, and he looked pale and worn out.
"This is going to hurt for a minute, but then you'll be free," he said, grabbing the knots at Al's wrists and untying them. When he was done with those, Roy did the same with the ropes around the boy's ankles.
"Thank you..." Al said quietly.
Glancing at the array, Roy murmured, "It smells disgusting in here."
"What? You don't like it?" came another voice. It was also familiar, but not completely. There was a drawn out and unnatural tinge to it where there should have been energy and a bit of mischievousness.
Glancing to one corner of the room, Roy's eyes fixed on a figure sitting back on his heels. Greasy blond hair hung down over the figure's shoulders and over one of his eyes. The other eye, golden and bright as it reflected the moonlight coming through the window, stared fixedly at him. A wide smile pulled at his lips and there was a dab of red on one of his cheeks. Slowly, the figure raised one hand, an automail hand, and brought it to his lips. The fingers were drawn out to a point and blood dripped down from the points of the finger tips.
"Edward...?" Roy said in quiet horror.
The figure nodded slightly, then stuck his tongue out and licked at one of the fingers. "Lieutenant Havoc tastes really good," he declared. There was a pause, then he held out his hand, "Wanna taste?"
In fury, Roy lifted one of his hands and snapped without thinking. The area around Ed exploded, but when the smoke cleared, the teen was nowhere in sight.
"Colonel..." Al whimpered, then grabbed him around one of his arms. "My brother..."
"Alphonse..." Roy ground out. "That thing—" But he didn't have a chance to finish.
"Don't let that lie touch you!" Ed's voice rang out.
Lie? Roy thought, and looked down at Alphonse.
"He's crazy..." Al whispered, holding tightly to Roy's arm. "Ever since he restored my body... He's lost his sanity..."
"That's not my brother!" Ed yelled loudly. "But I do plan on using him as an ingredient to get Al back!"
Roy's head whipped around, trying to find where Ed had gone, then he caught sight of him on the far side of the room. He only had a moment to realize this before Ed was running toward him, claw-like automail outstretched.
Without conscientiously deciding to do it, Roy raised his free arm and snapped. As he attacked, Roy stood, breaking free of Alphonse's hold.
He looked around wildly, remembering the last time he had battled against Edward. Even if it had been for an assessment, he knew that Ed could jump out at him through the dust at any moment and he had to stay alert.
"Colonel! Behind you!" Alphonse yelled from beside him.
Whirling around, Roy saw that Ed was practically in his face. He snapped at the same time that Ed's claws dug into his side. Screaming with the pain, Roy caught a glimpse of Ed's real arm being blown off. Blood gushed from the open wound and down the teen's body, but Ed didn't stop. He moved in with his head and bit down on the array on Roy's glove. When Ed pulled his head back, his teeth ripped the array from the glove, making it useless.
Adrenaline pumped through Roy's body and he kicked at Ed's torso with his boot, forcing him away. He felt the claws slide out of him and had to hold in the shout of pain that was fighting to be released.
Ed grinned wickedly, his eyes hungry and intent. Ed's body tensed, ready to attack again, when the floor beneath him shot up and punctured his torso. His small, compact body was lifted off the ground, and his legs and remaining arm dangled from his impaled body. Blood continued to pour from where the arm had been blown off, but the flow lessened now as it drained from his stomach and mouth.
"Wha—" Roy exclaimed in surprise, and turned to see Alphonse, one knee to the floor, hand on a hastily drawn array.
"He's served his purpose," Al said calmly as he stood back up.
"His... purpose...?" Roy repeated, feeling dazed at the turn in events.
"You didn't think that was really my brother, did you?" Alphonse asked, looking up at him with an emotionless calm that sent a chill through Roy's body. "My brother sacrificed himself to return me to this state, but I can't live without him. I want him back. I will get him back."
Alphonse shook his head. "I've tried so many things, but in the end, they all failed. I was able to create several soulless shells, but the results varied. I've finally come to the conclusion that in order to retrieve such a talented and powerful alchemist as my brother, I must sacrifice one in return."
He paused, then said in a flat, dead tone, "That's where you come in, Colonel."
Roy raised his other hand, ready to defend himself, then stared at it in shock. The glove was gone.
"I took it while you were fighting with that thing," Al said, indicating with a nod of his head who he meant.
Roy clenched his teeth together, trying to come up with an escape plan. Alphonse had always been as intelligent as Ed, but this person he saw was not the Alphonse he knew. The only explanation Roy could come up with was that losing his brother had driven him insane.
"It was unfortunate about your subordinates..." Alphonse continued. "I always liked them, but I couldn't allow them to get in my way. You understand, don't you?" He pointed toward the array. "Lieutenant Havoc was very helpful. I had originally intended on using Lieutenant Hawkeye for this particular array, but Lieutenant Havoc has more mass and so I was able to create two arrays from him. In doing so, I was able to test one of my theories on Lieutenant Hawkeye."
There was a pause, then, "You should be happy that their deaths could be meaningful."
"Meaningful?!" Roy said sharply. It was becoming difficult to breathe and he wrapped an arm around his torso in an effort to stop the pain from his side. He didn't need to see the wound to know that it was serious. Blood was flowing down his side and leg, and it was if his energy was leaving with it. "And what about Fury and Falman? Are you going to imply that their deaths were meaningful too?"
"Of course. I had to leave you a strong message to begin with, and then I wanted to show you how advanced my alchemy has become." Alphonse's lips quirked up into a small grin and he asked with a touch of lunacy, "Were you impressed?"
Run.
Every fiber of Roy's being screamed at him to run, to flee, to escape this impossible situation. His mind refused to see what was right before his eyes. That had not been Edward, but this... this was most definitely not Alphonse...
There was a window behind him, he could try to jump out, but he was on the second floor; that would be almost certain death. He could try rushing the boy to get his glove back, but he wasn't exactly sure where Al had put it.
"It's here," Al said, patting his pocket. "Your glove. It's here."
Roy scowled; it was like the boy knew what was in his thoughts and was tempting him to try it. Did Alphonse expect him to go after the glove? If that were the case, then wouldn't jumping out the window be a less risky venture? But then the thought occurred to him. He had a third option, though he didn't know if it would actually work.
"You want me to try to get the glove from you," Roy said, his heart pounding.
Again Alphonse patted his pocket.
Pressing his lips together, Roy took a deep breath, then rushed forward. He could see halfway there that Alphonse's plan had been for Roy to go for that side and then he would push Roy onto the array. But Roy didn't go for the glove. Instead, he changed direction to Al's other side. It was unexpected, and the millisecond it took for Al to change his position cost him.
With a cry of pain and effort, Roy pushed against Alphonse with everything he had. Whatever clotting had happened in his wound opened and hot blood began to gush down his body. His legs gave out from beneath him and he fell to his knees.
But he knew from the light of the array and the brightness that filled the room that he'd succeeded. Seconds later the screaming followed. There were curses, bitter an angry, and accusations about ruined plans, but Roy didn't care.
He hadn't been able to exact justice, but he'd gotten revenge for his fallen comrades. No one else would have to suffer the way that they'd suffered in their final moments, and that was something he knew that they all would have wanted.
It was then that it occurred to Roy that he was lying on his side and not kneeling on his knees. He wanted to lay on his back, or even try to get up and use the phone, but his body wouldn't allow it.
Roy thought he heard the sounds of shouts outside, or maybe even inside the building, but he couldn't be sure. Someone would come tonight. The other soldiers would probably come here when they weren't able to get a hold of the guards... Of course... Why hadn't he thought of that before...?
His eyelids felt heavy and he closed them. It was over. No matter how horrific the last few hours had been, they were over now... The sound of voices was closer now, and through his closed lids he could tell that there were lights in the room now. There were exclamations of revulsion and shock. Roy thought about trying to turn his head and open his eyes to see what had become of Alphonse, but he decided that he really didn't want to know.
Hands were touching him now, though he was only vaguely aware of them. The voices seemed to come from far away, but he caught the words, "He's dead too..." He knew they meant something, but trying to understand took too much effort. Feeling relieved once again that the whole ordeal was over, Roy let himself slip away into nothingness.
A/N: You may have noticed what seemed to be some 'inconsistencies' in this story, such as Havoc's gun being inside the building instead of out where he dropped it, and Riza unlocking and locking the first set of doors when they were supposed to be broken, etc. The ones I just mentioned were meant to be that way. The rifle was moved inside and the doors were repaired. Al made sure to fix each scene to be how he wanted it. This isn't outright explained, but that's why it's done that way.
Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it even though Halloween was yesterday and not today haha
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Comments are always appreciated. :)