Meet Roy Mustang, a dashing and charismatic criminal, most wanted man in all of Amestris, who also happens to be a master of flame alchemy. But what are the secrets of his puzzling past? How did he come to be what he is now?
Rating: T for violence and language
Genre: Hmm... General, I guess, with a touch of AU and some Royai in later parts.
Notes: Hello! This is my first Hagaren fic, and boy, this is exciting... I've became a huge Roy fan, so I just had to try writing about him... And I wanted to try something different from the bajillion FMA fics out there, so here's what I thought up. Now, I'm not sure whether it's all that original or anything, but I hope it's at least a little interesting. I'm interested in darker aspects of characters, and for some reason I like it when they go bad. It's cool. I wanted to try it out on Mustang-sama^^
So, here we go.
The Flame of Anarchy
Chapter One
"Everyone's crazy about the bastard. For God's sake, he's an arsonist and thief..."
The young private, whose name was Michael, had never expected his first night on patrol to be so eventful.
Michael and his friend, James, were assigned to watch the military warehouses. Both were tired, sleepy and bored. At least up to midnight, that was.
"Mike... Can't we just go back to the office? This is hell, really. It's so dark you can barely see a damn thing. And besides, what idiot would attack the warehouses? There's nothing in 'em but clothes and guns." James, a talkative man, complained endlessly.
"You're not helping. Shut up, Jim," Michael grumbled, pulling out his already spotless musket to polish for another time. He checked his watch. It read ten o'clock. "Just two more hours, and we're out of here."
"I can't wait," James sighed.
The two fell into a gloomy silence. Two hours... That was a long time.
They slowly marched around the warehouses, too bored to be spooked by the dark corners and shadows. Michael caught himself wanting a robber or something of the sort would show up - make things a little more interesting, and maybe earn him a promotion. He imagined himself with stars and stripes upon his shoulders, ordering his subordinates around, winning wars and medals...
"Oi, Mike," James burst the bubble. He was nudging Michael with the butt of his gun.
Annoyed, Michael snapped, "What is it?"
James was suddenly whispering. "I thought I saw something close by."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Probably you're so eager to make us an excuse for us to report back early - "
"No, really!" James sounded afraid. "Really... There was something around..."
"Liar." Michael turned away, only to come face to face with... a man. It was someone he'd never seen before.
"Who're you?" James, also having caught sight of the person, yelped, raising his gun immediately. "Hands up!"
The man was dressed rather classily, in a dark trenchcoat and a suit, along with a brimmed hat that shadowed his face. Michael could only see his chin.
"Good evening," he said in a smooth voice, raising his hand in salute. It was gloved in white.
"This area is government property," Michael tried not to let his voice shake. Something about this person was making him afraid - was it the way he'd appeared without warning? Or was it the calm, coolness of him? "We have to ask you to leave, sir."
"Although I'm sorry to say so, I can't." The man lifted his hat, revealing rather narrow, almost Xingese, dark eyes that seemed to glint in the dark. "I have some business here. Please move, privates."
Michael blinked. How did this man know their ranks? Just by looking at their shoulders? Most people couldn't tell apart generals from corporals... Who was this person? "If you don't obey, sir, we must shoot." He aimed, his hands shaking a little, at the man's chest.
"What's your business here?" James burst out.
"Me?" The man smiled. If he weren't so nervous, Michael would have noticed the handsomeness of it. "I'm here to torch the warehouses."
Both Michael and James gaped idiotically.
"But... he's not carrying any explosives or flammable devices..." James whispered, rather loudly, to Michael.
"Maybe he's lying... Just trying to freak us out." Michael replied, not daring to take his eyes off the man. They couldn't shoot yet; the intruder hadn't actually done anything. He could be just some deranged homeless person... No, he was too well-dressed for that... Michael, breathing fast, tried to think of what he should do.
"Oh, you'll see." The man grinned again, and slowly lifted his gloved hand. Michael noticed an odd kind of circle drawn on the back of it, in red, with some triangles and symbols inside... It reminded him of something he'd seen somewhere, in a book, probably, but he couldn't place it... What was it? He doubted it was for decoration.
The man snapped his fingers.
Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion of flames and heat from one of the warehouses. All Michael could do was grab James and drop to the ground, covering his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoped he wouldn't be burned to a crisp -
"What the hell's going on!" James shouted over the roar of the fire.
"I don't know!" Michael's voice was muffled. "Shit, we've got to alert the station - "
There was another boom. Michael risked a glance upward. The man was still standing above them - it seemed to Michael that he was controlling the flames - but that was ridiculous, impossible, absurd -
He tipped his hat, then began to walk away.
Michael tried to aim from his pitiful position on the ground, but the stinging smoke prevented him from getting a clear shot. James didn't fare any better.
"Jim, we've gotta get outta here," Michael hissed. Seeing that they had no other choice, he staggered up to his feet, dragged James upright as well, and made a dash for it.
"So he's back..." The major, called Amsterdam, rubbed his temples.
"Who? Do you know him, sir?" James asked. "We didn't see him very well - he was wearing a hat - "
"He looks fairly Oriental, I've heard, but we don't have any clear photos of him." Amsterdam sighed. "But yes, I know him very well."
Michael's eyes widened. "How..."
"He's the most famous criminal out there, nowadays." The major pulled out a newspaper and showed it to the privates. The headline read, 'A New Face in Town - the Robber Shrouded in Flames'. "He's known as the Flame of Anarchy - everywhere he goes, lawlessness ensues. So many petty thieves and arsonists got so-called inspiration from the man - crime rates have tripled because of him."
"What's his real name, Major?" James ventured to inquire; Amsterdam wasn't in a good mood and not particularly pleased with their spectacular failure in protecting the warehouses.
"I'm surprised you don't know." Amsterdam looked down at Michael and James, who were both covered in bits of rubble and soot. " No one's seen him up so close, save talked to him. I'd suggest you read some more news." He took a draught from his large cigar. "He's called Roy Mustang."
The privates looked at each other. "Never heard of him, sir."
"Where do you two live? In an island off Tahiti?"
The next morning, newspapers were booming: "The Flame Strikes Again! Two dozen military warehouses destroyed!"
With some pleasure, Roy Mustang waited in line to buy a paper.
"Good morning," he said to the owner of the stand as he began to rummage for some coins.
"Aye, to you, too," the salesma, a middle-aged person with a balding head, nodded. "Heavens, my papers are going out fast today - "
"Is it because of Mustang?" Roy asked casually, handing him the coins.
"Who? The Flame? Yeah, probably. Everyone's crazy about the bastard," grumbled the man disapprovingly. "it's insane. Once I saw some boys, playing with matches, claiming that they're going to become his apprentices. For god's sake, he's an arsonist and a thief..." Suddenly the salesman lowered his voice. "But I have to admit, I quite like the Flame." He tapped a blurry photograph of a hatted man on the front page of the paper. Not a very good shot, thought Roy. "He's a wild, brave one. Up 'till now, no one's stood up to the government like he did... Mustang's earning lots of points from commoners like us."
"Oi, what's taking so long?" A shout came from someone behind Mustang. Taking the paper and thanking the salesman, he walked away from the stand, looking down at his purchase.
The most recent of The Flame of Anarchy's arsons took place at more government warehouses in Central. The Flame, Roy Mustang, former colonel of the Amestris military, has again disappeared without a trace; the only two witnesses of Mustang's attack last night are newly recruited privats, Mr. M. Peterson and Mr. J. Myers. But even they, who have been reported to have held a short conversation with Mustang, have been unable to provide authorities with any new information...
And so on and so forth.
It entertained Roy beyond words.
It was so much fun.