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CHAPTER 4:
ALCHEMY OF DESTRUCTION
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The person who had murdered Nina was desert-skinned, and male, with short white and gray hair. He wore an orange jacket over a white shirt, black pants, and his eyes were hidden by Sunglasses.
But Edward barely paid any attention to this, to Tucker's corpse lying to the right of Nina relative to Edward in a spreading pool of blood, and he barely registered Nina's head had been burst open by currents of blue.
He clapped his hands, transmuted an automail sword out of his right arm in blue of his own, screamed in agony and rage and self-hatred and too many other emotions for him to identify any of the others or know how many could be identified, and charged the murderer, swinging his sword at the right arm that had torn Nina from this world and seeking to sever it from the bastard's body.
The person twisted to Edward's right with more speed than Ed had seen anyone move in his life save Teacher, put his right hand against the blade, and in more crackling blue, the sword shattered.
Edward staggered back. What the h–!?
"Brother!" Alphonse cried before Ed could finish the thought.
"That's enough, Scar!" Mustang shouted, and for an unknown reason Hawkeye was nowhere to be seen. "Freeze, or you'll learn why my Flame Alchemy made me the Hero of Ishval!"
As he was, Edward barely cared Mustang was thought of as a war hero of that genocidal conflict.
'Scar' turned to look at Mustang. He smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant one.
"You're the so-called 'Hero of Ishval?'" he asked, still smiling his unpleasant smile, and there was a deep anger in his words. "Excellent. I wasn't sure how I'd get at you, but you've run right into my hands. I assume the boy with the automail is the Fullmetal Alchemist as well. I don't just get to kill the Hero of Ishval, I get to kill three State Alchemists in one day. This will be a day much more worth waiting for than I'd believed the day I'd judge the Hero of Ishval would be!"
Mustang tightened his glove, doubtlessly so he'd be better prepared for the small chance he'd be able to use his Flame Alchemy even though his glove was currently wet, and circled Scar. Scar matched his movements. "Go ahead and try to judge me if you still want to after you hear this," the Colonel retorted. "But you need to hear this first. I recently discovered the existence of an Ishvalan alchemist with tattoos on his right arm and left arm."
Edward's jaw dropped, and Scar shifted almost imperceptibly. Surely Mustang couldn't think this bastard might be him!
"If that's you," Ed ground his teeth so hard he was certain they would chip. Please, no, "We're not your enemies. We're allies of McDougal, the alchemist you saved near the end of the war."
The murderer was quiet for a few seconds, and then asked, his tone resigned, "My brother saved the life of a State Alchemist?"
Edward swore vehemently. Things couldn't be turning out this way! He was willing to work with McDougal, but not with a monster who had just murdered Nina!
The Colonel smiled. "He did. And he made a wise choice, for this alchemist went on to discover the true cause of the Ishvalan Civil War, and why we were ordered to exterminate your people." He stopped circling Scar, and Scar stopped moving across from him with one of the tall windows on the back wall behind him.
"What are you talking about?" Scar questioned.
"Fϋhrer Bradley ordered the Ishvalan child shot," Mustang responded. "The war was instigated on purpose. He wanted your people massacred."
Scar ground his teeth, and his right hand clenched and unclenched into tight fists. "I can believe that. But if you think I'll believe you knew nothing of this, you're a fool. You were one of the most lethal killers of my people. I cannot trust a single word that emits from your filthy mouth.
"Furthermore, if you're trying to convince me to take you to meet my brother, I couldn't even if I was willing to. My brother is dead. Another State Alchemist murdered him."
Now Mustang swore, but after several seconds, he addressed the male who was now revealed to be an Ishvalan again. "Is that why you're targeting State Alchemists? To avenge him?"
"Partially," Scar spoke back. "But also because, as you know, the alteration of matter from the form Ishvala gave it when He created this world into a different form is blasphemy. Your extermination of my people was the final straw. You have blasphemed against Ishvala too much. You must be sentenced to death for your sins."
Mustang snorted. "That's a lie and you know it. You're hiding behind your belief your God approves of your actions to justify what you know is nothing more than hatred and vengeance."
"I'm fully aware I'm avenging my people," Scar responded. "What difference does that make? All State Alchemists still deserve death. Even more so since you intended to exterminate my people from the start. I seek vengeance for my kinsfolk, but I'm still judging you, and God still approves of my actions. You filth must be cleansed from this world."
"Even if Ishvala does approve," the Colonel spoke back, "Can you say the same about your brother? Your brother saved one of us. He wouldn't want you to be systematically murdering us."
Scar snarled. "Don't you dare presume to tell me what my brother would want! I refuse to continue this conversation. It's time for you to be delivered your penance!"
Mustang's eyes shifted, so surreptitiously Edward barely caught it happening.
But he did, and apparently Scar did as well, for the Ishvalan threw himself to the side swiftly. Again he moved with incredible speed, but it wasn't quick enough to prevent the sniper's bullet that exploded through the window behind him from embedding itself in his right side rather than his chest.
Scar staggered forward and to the side, out of sight of the window, and Ed wasted no time. He ran at the Ishvalan as fast as he could move without unbalancing himself, Al following him, and swept into a low kick with his legs. Even badly injured, though, Scar was able to leap over the kick, and he sailed over Ed's head to thrust his right palm against the front of Al's armor.
Blue currents erupted over Al and the front of Al's armor burst into shards, sending him falling back to the floor on his posterior.
"Al!" Edward screamed, terror defying all thought or expression consuming him wholly, but then he could see none of the flying pieces of armor had scratched his younger brother's blood seal.
Ed rolled back into a kick with his automail leg, and as he'd hoped, Scar caught it and blue crackled. But whatever the transmutations the Ishvalan had learned from his brother were, they were still bound by the laws of the world, and Scar couldn't hurt something he didn't know the composition of. Nothing happened, and Edward pulled forward with his leg. Caught off guard and wounded, Scar stumbled forward.
Ed's automail elbow connected with his stomach.
Al was rising, and Ed followed up with a kick with his automail leg at Scar's head. Winry was going to take her wrench to him for this, but he had to keep the Ishvalan's attention off Al. It was already fully obvious neither of them stood any chance of incapacitating Scar on his own.
Scar didn't take the bait, however. He ducked the kick as opposed to seizing the automail leg and destroying it, grabbed the leg in both hands, and hurled Edward over his head into Alphonse. The two brothers crashed to the floor, and Scar ran at them.
Al took his head off and hurled it spinning through the air at Scar's face, but again the Ishvalan didn't waste time destroying it. He ducked the helmet–
As Edward had been counting on. He'd already been clapping, and now, trusting Mustang and Hawkeye would realize what he had in mind, he slapped the floor. A stone pole shot diagonally into the air as rapidly as Ed could move it and struck the helmet, and sending it flying before the window Hawkeye had fired through. Scar halted and looked at the helmet, clearly assuming Hawkeye was going to try to shoot it in his direction.
A shot rang out, but the bullet didn't impact with the helmet. Rather, it tore over the spinning helmet, the speed at which the bullet was moving and the spinning of the helmet creating enough friction to light a small amount of sparks.
Scar's threw himself backwards, bringing his left arm up to protect his face, but it was too late. Mustang was slamming the glove with his Flame Alchemy transmutation circle on it to the floor.
An inferno detonated in midair in front of Scar, incinerating the front of his clothes and scorching the surface layers of skin off his left arm. He cried out in anguish and landed unsteadily, falling to his knees.
Edward charged him, bringing back his automail fist to slug the Ishvalan in the face and end this.
But Scar dove forward, slapping his right hand against Ed's automail leg, and now that the Ishvalan knew what it was, it tore to pieces in blue energies and Edward found himself falling backwards to the floor. Before Edward hit it, the Ishvalan struck the floor himself with his right hand, and it detonated in more blue currents, collapsing beneath the Ishvalan and carrying him out of sight.
Mustang cursed and ran up to the hole, but after several seconds the Colonel snarled and said, "There's too much rubble in the way for me to see what happened to him. He probably got away."
Ed swore.
Then, now that the threat was gone, the full enormity of what had just happened returned to him.
Everything rushed out of him, leaving him so empty the emptiness he'd experienced when he'd discovered Nina had been transmuted into a Chimera felt like a tiny crack in comparison. Before him, the sight of the back of Nina's head detonating in blood and flesh and her corpse falling to the floor played over and over as vividly as if it was still was dead.
Because the truth had hurt too much for him to look at it right away, and he'd done nothing until it was too late.
He was the one who had murdered her, as surely as if he had transmuted her head himself.
His stomach clenched and heaved violently, and he turned over onto his side and retched violently onto the floor, over and over, and when all the food was gone from his stomach he kept dry heaving and dry heaving until his stomach was too weak to continue, and even then it kept spasming and clenching and attempting to throw up.
By every element in the universe, what had he done?
He couldn't accept the truth McDougal had revealed? He'd been an incomparably greater idiot than he'd thought he was. He'd been telling himself a lie, and believing it even though he should have known better. He was unwilling to accept it. The Truth was more terrible than he could have imagined in his craziest thoughts, so while he was facing it and continuing on for Al, he'd been too scared of it to accept it. He could have accepted it; he'd just been too frightened to do so.
And Nina had paid the cost for his cowardice.
He'd thought he'd learned years ago what happened when he turned away from any part of reality, but he'd been wrong. They'd been more right than they'd known. They were infants of the worst sort, whining toddlers who got upset when the world demonstrated it wasn't the pristine photograph their parents had tacked to the wall even after they'd discovered doing so caused harm. They'd known the cost of not accepting the truth, but still they hadn't accepted it. And that had led them to not even face the truth about Nina.
And because of their childishness, Nina was now dead. They'd – he'd – murdered an innocent, mostly happy little girl. Just like he'd murdered Mom. Someone who had nothing to do with their problems, and who never should have been dragged into them, who should have been able to live safely with the Rockbells with the hope one day she could return to her natural body.
Ed's stomach clenched particularly badly, and he thought his dry heaving was going to resume, but he was too weak to be able to.
He wished he could. He wished he'd retch for the rest of his life and past his death, or better, retch until he asphyxiated in his own throw up. He was no different than the Fϋhrer or Tucker. He thought of little girls as worth nothing and let them die, and caused people besides himself and Al to suffer for their sins, when it was convenient for him to do so.
"I know, Brother," Al spoke behind him, fathomless guilt and shame and despair in his words. Ed didn't want to think about what he'd done to Al by killing Nina. "We let her die. Because we're children."
"That's right," Mustang said. "So you shouldn't blame–"
It felt like measurelessly too much effort to move at all, but Edward carefully, weakly held up his automail hand. He ignored how his aching body protested the motion, ignored how his aching body protested even breathing, ignored his mind's desire to never move again. It was too late now, far, far too late, but he could never do nothing again after doing nothing had killed Nina, and this had to end.
And that included ignoring the part of him that wanted to try human transmutation to attempt to resurrect Nina.
"Stop it," he said. "Please. We're alchemists. We have responsibilities, and we know the need to face the Truth. And we didn't do that, so we failed at our responsibilities. This is our fault, and nothing will change that."
Ed rolled over, and looked at Al. "We've got to end this, Al. It doesn't matter how atrocious the flow of reality can be, or how indifferent or other things alchemists and other humans can act, or what alchemy can do and construct, or the alchemy we trusted in is this horrible. That's what reality is. We've got to accept that, or this will happen again."
Al nodded. "I will."
He wondered if he should put more effort into searching for a way to move forward from the Freezer's revelations, as well, but he was almost certain it didn't matter. Why bother moving forward from the horrors of reality, if it was possible, when they brought those horrors upon innocents themselves?
Why move forward from anything again, when they couldn't save their mother or a single innocent little girl?
Edward could find no answer. He extremely highly doubted there was an answer.
He didn't care anymore. They could swim to the other side of the river of mud, if one existed, without moving forward. So long as they stood on their own legs they could do it. Mustang hadn't known what he was talking about when he'd advised Ed to move forward in order to seize the possibility that might be on the other side of the river of mud.
As if knowing what he was thinking, the Colonel looked down at him with what might have been sympathy, but if it was, Edward didn't care. Things like that didn't matter now. Not when he'd murdered an innocent little girl.
"Come on, Fullmetal," he spoke, and Edward didn't care his voice was unarguably gentle too. "I'll hold you up while you fix Al's armor," Edward didn't care about the concept of Mustang keeping him off the floor as well, "Then we need to leave and call in the forensics team to do their work."
Edward didn't reply. He just lay there, looking up sightlessly at the ceiling.
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Olivier Mira Armstrong finished reading Alex's letter to her most trusted subordinates, Captain Buccaneer and Major Miles, as they stood at attention before her desk in her otherwise empty office.
"Well," she questioned, "What do you think?"
"From what I've heard of the Strong Arm Alchemist," Buccaneer responded, "He doesn't strike me as the kind of person to betray his country." Olivier felt a slight surge of irritation. As much as she despised her younger brother, she didn't like hearing anyone discuss the possibility of his loyalties being in question. "I doubt he wrote you this to cause disruption here and leave us more vulnerable to Drachma."
"That's not what I meant," Olivier corrected. "Do you think he's the one being deceived? Do you think Mustang is backing McDougal, and had McDougal tell the Fullmetal Alchemist this wild story to ensure Edward Elric's and Major Armstrong's help in his bid for the top?"
"I couldn't say," Miles replied. "We know the Colonel's character, but although it's a stretch, this sounds like something he's capable of. But if he is, how do you explain the supposed 'Philosopher's Stone''s ability to transmute a diamond out of paper? Everything we've heard about the Fullmetal Alchemist over the years has made him out to be a young man of integrity. I doubt he'd lie about something like that."
"Those are my thoughts," Olivier spoke back, continuing to keep her joy, and other emotions, at having this unexpected opportunity to reach the top herself dropped in her lap, even though it had been by Alex, out of her voice. "If you two can't think of anything I've missed, it's probably safe to assume Major Armstrong is telling the truth, and we're threatened from inside our nation as well as outside. Do you have anything more you'd like to say?"
"No, sir," the two officers replied in unison.
"Then inform our soldiers in general of the situation," Olivier commanded. "From this moment onward, all Amestrian soldiers save the ones named in Major Armstrong's letter are to be considered enemies of Fort Briggs, and denied access to it unless they come with a direct order from an officer outranking me commanding they be admitted. I'll phone Central and inform High Command I'm closing Fort Briggs off to the outside world indefinitely to conduct new military exercises its vital we keep as secret as possible.
"Also order our troops no one save for Mountain Patrol is to leave the fort without my express approval, and anyone from Mountain Patrol, or someone else I give permission to, who has departed it and wishes to reenter must submit to rigorous searching before being granted admittance. No one and nothing enters this fort I don't know about in extensive detail from now on."
"That will just keep us safe for a time," Miles warned her. "When the Fϋhrer is ready to soak Fort Briggs in blood, he'll order you reassigned if you become an obstacle."
"I'm aware of that," Olivier said back. "That's why I want you, Captain Buccaneer, to take a squad of our best soldiers and use all the leave time you and our forces have been saving up to go on an extended absence. We're going to be setting up a coup of our own, as Mustang is currently committed to the Fullmetal Alchemist's ludicrous belief a revolution can be accomplished bloodlessly. And I know just how to begin."
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Edward sat on the right couch relative to Mustang's desk when facing it, a crutch resting at his left side and looking across the room, but he saw nothing in it. Al sat to his right, his armor once more whole, and Hawkeye stood to the right of Mustang's desk.
The Colonel sat behind it.
"All right," the Colonel said. "First things first. Will you be traveling to Resembool to see your mechanic about your automail leg?"
The back of Nina's head exploded in tatters of flesh and blood
He forced the vision away.
Winry. He'd be seeing Winry tomorrow, in her body and whole and alive and in front of him, and he attempted to take comfort in that.
It barely helped.
"Yes," Ed responded. "Al and I will take the afternoon train."
"In that case," Mustang spoke back, "I'd prefer you wait until tomorrow. I reported what happened to Central before calling you in here, and Hughes and Major Armstrong will be arriving then to take Tucker and Nina to Central for autopsy at one of Central's government run alchemic research laboratories." Edward's stomach twisted, but he knew they couldn't object to that now when the Fϋhrer was going to be watching them from now on. He'd probably already started; a number of the soldiers in Eastern Command must have been assigned to keep an eye on their comings and goings, and all of Mustang's phone lines had probably been tapped by now. "As Scar got away, it will be better if you travel with Armstrong as an escort. Scar is badly hurt, but as we saw, wounds don't keep him from being deadly."
Edward knew Mustang was just being protective of them. After how badly Scar had been injured, Mustang knew they didn't need an escort. But, even though under ordinary circumstances Edward would have protested traveling anywhere with a military escort, and Ed was aware there was almost no need for one now, he didn't care whether he journeyed with one now too. Nor did he care Mustang was being protective. Ed had to be strong and tough to walk on his legs, but Mustang's protectiveness meant nothing to him now just like it meant nothing now it was Mustang who was being protective, so it wasn't a problem. "Sure," Edward responded.
The Colonel sighed, but did him the kindness of not looking sympathetic again, even though Ed wouldn't have cared if his superior had. "On those lines, are you still in?" Mustang didn't have to name what he was referring to.
Ed experienced a faint flicker of irritation. He was too exhausted and ached too much everywhere to feel more than that about this. "Yes." He was too exhausted and ached too much everywhere to truly care about a lot of things now in countless ways. "Could you please not ask me that again?"
Why did it matter now whether or not the revolt led to bloodshed? He was already a murderer and he'd already killed people; he'd murdered Nina and Mom. He hadn't directly killed Nina, but that didn't make him any less a killer; there was no difference between an indirect murder and a direct one. Furthermore, he had directly murdered Mom. His hands were caked with blood; what was the point of being resolved not to kill and not to stain them? So what did it matter whether or not anyone was killed because of him in a revolution?
That was stupid. He had murdered, but both of those deaths had been unintentional. As atrocious as it was to kill unintentionally, there was an incredible difference between unintentional killing and purposefully murdering someone or risking that murder. His hands were caked with blood, but he still couldn't kill intentionally or risk it or let it happen.
Mustang didn't react visibly or audibly to Ed's usage of 'please' to him. "Very well.
"I'd like to question if you're sure you can perform military operations, legal or illegal, now, but given how effective you were when we fought Scar, I'll let that lie for the present."
"Then to business," Hawkeye joined the conversation. She turned to the Colonel. "If we can arrest Scar without killing him, should we try to recruit him, sir, or let our superiors execute him?"
Something Ed didn't like at all rose within him, demanding he recommend they let Scar be executed, but he squashed it. If there had been any possibility before of Edward doubting his belief vengeance was wrong and self-defeating, Scar's actions had removed it from reality.
He clenched his teeth at the concept of allying with Scar, however. He didn't want the Ishvalan dead, but even after what Ed had done to Nina, he loathed the concept of working with Scar even more now that Edward knew Scar's motives. Scar wasn't murdering to attempt to save people like McDougal had. He was killing for revenge, out of hatred. He'd killed Nina and he was acting from hate. Unlike McDougal, Scar genuinely was a bastard.
"I know," Mustang was obviously aware of Edward's feelings. "I don't like it myself. But the threat to Amestris is a larger problem than our dislike of Scar's actions and motives. He's related to the Ishvalan who knew about the network of Stones. He may be able to aid us." The Colonel looked at Hawkeye. "Yes, we should attempt to recruit him if we're given the opportunity."
Ed clenched hands, one that felt so heavy it was hard to believe he could move it into a fist, and Alphonse shifted uncomfortably. He loathed it. He loathed it incredibly, even in the state he was in. But Mustang was right, and Ed had learned in Liore letting his emotions rule him took him down a path that wouldn't solve problems.
None of that awareness caused him to loathe the concept of recruiting Scar any less, though.
"Do you think we'll be able to find him before the Fϋhrer does?" Al questioned, and he couldn't keep worry from his voice.
Edward knew why he was worried. If the Fϋhrer located Scar first and arrested or killed him, their Ishvalan lead would turn out to be a dead end.
But Ed could barely care about that. How could he care their Ishvalan lead might get them nowhere, when Edward had murdered Nina, and hadn't been able to save her?
"I don't know," the Colonel replied. "If he remains in East City, maybe. But if I were him, I'd return to Central and investigate why the Fϋhrer willingly incited the war at least until my wounds healed, and not attack any State Alchemists again until they did, if not until I discovered answers. If he goes back to Central, he'll be much harder for us to find before the Fϋhrer does.
"Tell me, Fullmetal. As his brother was an alchemist, there's no doubt, whatever Scar was doing, he was using alchemy. Do you have any idea how he was inflicting injury and wrecking things?"
Ed thought about it. "He must have a way to stop his transmutations at the deconstruction stage."
The Colonel's eyes went wide. "You believe an alchemist can do that?" He looked as if he was thinking himself. "Perhaps it's because he's not using Amestrian alchemy. I doubt his brother was, given what he knew, so Scar probably isn't using Amestrian alchemy himself."
Ed considered that, then shook his head. "Now that my mind is on it, I can think of equations for stopping a transmutation at deconstruction when performing Amestrian alchemy. He may not be using Amestrian alchemy, but that's not why he's able to deconstruct without reconstructing."
Mustang's eyes widened further. "You can? That's good news. That will give us a very effective means of fighting the Fϋhrer so long as he doesn't shut off our access to tectonic energy. Would you be willing to draw me a circle for deconstructing before you leave?"
"Okay." Ed frowned. "Scar calls alchemy blasphemy against his God, yet he uses alchemy himself. He's as much of a fraud as Cornello."
Before anyone could reply, there was a knock on the door. Hawkeye walked over and opened it, and a brown-haired male soldier with a thin mustache and a neat beard covering all of his chin stood outside. He walked in, closed the door behind him, looked at Mustang, whose face was now professional, saluted, and said, "We've found him, sir." Edward tensed. He needed to do it, but if they were able to recruit Scar, this was going to cause him to feel even worse. "According to numerous townsfolk questioned, as you ordered, by soldiers in civilian clothing, a person matching the description you gave us goes by the name of Doctor Mauro in the town of Nentid."
Not Scar, then. Doctor Marcoh. Ed sighed in relief. Thank goodness.
This soldier must be trustworthy or Mustang wouldn't have dispatched him to search for Doctor Marcoh. Edward could act in ways that might be seen as untrustworthy with him in the room.
But that was mostly all he felt. Ed couldn't even care more than barely Hughes' idea had been proven accurate and they'd located Doctor Marcoh this swiftly. He couldn't even care that much this meant he'd soon be speaking to another alchemist who had treated human life as a laboratory sample, even though he'd deserted and stopped. Edward was aware he should care more about these things, but he couldn't. They hadn't been able to save Nina's human body, or her life. He should care they might have a better chance of saving countless millions of others now, but he couldn't. He couldn't fail and murder someone, especially someone like Nina, and feel comforted they might be able to do better in the future.
"Good work," Mustang complimented the soldier. "You're dismissed. Remember, you and everyone involved in the search are to speak of it to no one."
"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted him again and departed.
"Fullmetal," the Colonel said when the door was closed once again, looking at him, his face showing nothing of what he was feeling.
"I know," Ed responded. "I'm catching on. Nentid is on the way to Resembool, and the loss of my automail leg will give us a valid reason to be on a train that stops at Nentid. I'll meet with Doctor Marcoh with Al and Major Armstrong."
But what did it matter he was getting the hang of this, when his failings had condemned Nina?
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Standing in front of the closed barred double gate to Central Prison, Kimblee heard the sound of honking from his left, relative to the direction he was facing. He looked in that direction to see a black military car parked at the edge of the sidewalk. A raised hand extended out of the front passenger window.
Still amused at the head warden's belief Kimblee had intended to blow the warden up, rather than give him a toy for whatever child or children he had, even though he'd fulfilled his duty, and done his work, as a prison warden with admirable dedication over the years Kimblee had been trapped in his jail, Kimblee boarded the car, and was unsurprised to see the black-haired woman with the Uroborus tattoo he'd seen observing the goings on at Laboratory Five seated in the driver's seat.
Her expression was a mask, and Kimblee wondered if the reason it was had anything to do with why he'd been pardoned, but Kimblee knew better than to ask, and wasn't curious enough to question anyway.
"Did you enjoy your life in prison?" the woman asked, voice as professional as a military officer's. "I apologize for keeping you there, but letting you walk free after you murdered five superior officers would have raised too many questions, and we weren't sure we could trust you."
Kimblee nodded and took his hat off, then sat down, putting it at his side, and folded his hands behind his head, relaxing against the back of the seat. He wasn't angered by her revelation. These people, whoever they were, had been doing what was necessary to protect or further the research their talents made them suited for. Kimblee didn't mind when that inconvenienced him. "I thought so. You people are the ones in charge of the experiments at Laboratory Five, and the Fϋhrer is in on it."
The woman moved the car out of its parked position and drove down the street. "That's correct," she confirmed. "I'll get right to the point. Do you still have your Philosopher's Stone?"
Kimblee pushed against his stomach and gagged up the Stone, taking the roughly oblong rock in his hand, giddy to have his assumption he'd get to wield it again shortly confirmed. He'd known he'd likely be kept in prison a long time before whoever had decided not to try to execute him chose to make use of his talents and the Stone, and he'd been willing to wait as long as it took to get the chance to wield something that amplified his talents so greatly again without needing to watch his back all the time, but it had still been far, far too long since he'd expressed himself.
"Of course," he responded. "As I'm sure you're aware of, otherwise you wouldn't have kept me alive all this time. And I'm sure you know I have no intentions of returning it to any of you, and want me to wield it for the sake of your plans, or you'd have stuck me before a firing squad as opposed to releasing me. What do you wish me to do for you?"
"Do you remember Isaac McDougal's visit with you nine days ago?" the woman questioned.
Kimblee snorted. "The idealistic fool who believed I'd assassinated those officers in Ishval to create a country where there's no need for my talents? I'd never be able to forget such an accurate perception of my worldview, even if my memory wasn't as sharp as it is. No one has seen into my soul that penetratingly my entire life."
If the woman was amused, she gave no sign of it. She nodded. "Regretfully, McDougal succeeded, wittingly or unwittingly, in delaying our research, and may have hindered it so well it will take us years longer than we'd believed it would to complete it. He also escaped Central. We don't know for sure he's aware of the goal of our research and interfered with it intentionally – his actions against the Fϋhrer may have been a ruse – but there's a definite chance he does, and he's proven himself an impediment. So we want him taken out."
Kimblee smiled. Now he felt even giddier. The first time he'd be truly wielding his talents again he'd be using them against someone who had proven very interesting, and who thus was all but sure to provide Kimblee with another very interesting confrontation when they met again.
But Kimblee was confused. "Then why release me? The Freezer is experienced and skilled, but hardly a match for the whole Amestrian military." Then he understood. "Doctor Marcoh transmuted another Philosopher's Stone for use during the war, and gave it to him. That's why."
"That's also correct," the woman spoke back. "Unlike yours, McDougal's was transmuted from most of the researchers who raised the orphans that produced Fϋhrer Bradley." Kimblee's eyebrows raised at what that meant. "Once we had our marionette, there was no longer any need for any of those researchers save one, and they knew too much, so we made use of them in another way."
"Who are you people?" Kimblee inquired. He extremely highly doubted he'd get an answer, but his curiosity wanted to be indulged, and Kimblee was rarely one to refuse his desires.
"All in good time," the woman responded. "For now, your role in our puppet show is to kill McDougal, not to know who your puppetmasters are. Do you object?"
"Not at all," Kimblee replied. "Use me as you please, what I care about is having the opportunity to make use of my talents the best ways I can, and carving out acceptance of my worldview in the flow of the universe. So long as you give me the freedom to do that, I don't care what strings you tie around me."
If the woman was happy with his response, she didn't show it. She nodded again. "It appears we were right about you." The woman drove the car around a corner. "You'll find funding, a list of contacts Bradley has ordered to work with you or under you, all the information we're willing to give you on our activities for now, and a second Philosopher's Stone," Kimblee's eyes widened, "In there.
"You can never be too prepared when dealing with someone able to disrupt things as drastically as McDougal has," the woman reached over to the seat to her left, picked up an envelope, and handed it to him. "You should have a backup."
Kimblee put the Stone he was holding in his mouth, and then opened up the folder, turned it upside down, and reached inside, fishing around until he felt his hand touch a marble. He took it out and looked closely at the partially translucent red stone, even though he knew there was no way to tell whose souls had formed it.
"Did you make this from condemned prisoners, Ishvalans, or researchers?"
"From researchers," the woman responded. "Doctor Marcoh's research team. They've also outlived their usefulness. They've become a liability, so we exacted one last service from them. Not Doctor Marcoh himself, however. He deserted when the war ended," Kimblee frowned. He wondered if he'd get used to the hypocrisy of most soldiers and State Alchemists before he died, "And we still have an important use for him."
"Should I take it this means McDougal has informed others about Laboratory Five?" Kimblee questioned. This also meant these people were done transmuting Philosopher's Stones, and though his curiosity wanted to be indulged again, as to what they wanted the Stones for, because if had been confirmed his previous question wouldn't be answered, he was almost certain it would be a waste of time questioning and suppressed his curiosity this time.
"He might have," the woman replied. "Again, we don't know for sure, but we're not taking that chance. After I drop you off, my colleagues and I are going to destroy Laboratory Five."
Kimblee frowned at his awareness he wouldn't be nearby when a large building was destroyed, but that was Equivalent Exchange. "I see," Kimblee said. "Will I be reporting to you, or to someone else?"
"You'll be reporting to the Fϋhrer," the woman responded. "After the Fifth Laboratory is destroyed, I'm going to head east. Another person who's been interfering with our research tried to kill one of our most valuable assets earlier today, and I need to watch over him until one of my colleagues resolves the problem."
"So be it," Kimblee spoke back. "Who is this other troublemaker?"
"Believe it or not, an Ishvalan alchemist."
Kimblee's eyes went wide, and now anger did surge within him. He was surprised an Ishvalan alchemist existed, but that meant nothing to Kimblee now. That an Ishvalan was hindering the Fϋhrer meant Kimblee had failed in his duty and job as a State Alchemist and to himself as a person skilled at killing. That was unforgivable.
"Then please accept my apologies," Kimblee responded. "I should have ensured the Ishvalans never caused you any difficulties again, and I didn't. If your ally fails to kill the Ishvalan, I give you my word I'll personally correct my mistake should you desire me to."
"That won't be necessary," the woman answered. "The ally of mine hunting him down is second in skill to no one but Amestris' true master. There's no need for you to worry. Focus on the Freezer. Your error will be rectified without you needing to do anything yourself."
As eager as he was to meet McDougal again, Kimblee didn't care for the concept of sitting back while someone else compensated for his failure to do his job. However, McDougal was the greater threat to the life Kimblee lived, and if he disobeyed the woman he'd lose his chance to fulfill his duty to his calling, without watching his back once more. And realizing his duty to his calling was more important than realizing his duty to specific work others assigned him. He'd have to focus on the Freezer.
"Let's hope so," he responded.
.
Alphonse entered the Colonel's inner office behind his crutch-using Brother to see Maes Hughes and Major Armstrong standing before Mustang's desk. At the sight of them, tears cascaded down Major Armstrong's face.
Al suppressed new discomfort at seeing them. He was accepting the truth now, but that wasn't lessening how uncomfortable he felt at the concept of talking to them and working with them, and at seeing them, because of what they'd probably done in Ishval.
Hughes smiled. "It's wonderful to see you two again. Please, accept my condolences about Nina. I can't even take thinking about how I'd feel if Elicia was altered into a Chimera or killed, so I have an idea what you must be going through."
Brother didn't say anything, and Al again knew if he had insides, they'd have twisted violently. He hadn't seen his brother act this anguished since before the first time they'd met Mustang, and he didn't have the most infinitesimal idea how to raise Brother's spirits.
He wanted to tell his brother they'd get better at alchemy because they were still walking, and they were accepting the Truth now, so they'd have a greater chance of preventing this from happening again in the future, but Alphonse was certain his brother knew that. Saying that to him would be pointless.
But if that wouldn't support Brother, what would? Al didn't believe this time there was nothing to say; they'd been lying to themselves about accepting the truth, so there had to be an answer to how they could come to terms with murdering Nina, but at present Alphonse didn't have the most microscopic clue what it was.
Was that, as well, because he was such a child? It was horrible transcending words his childishness had killed Nina like he'd killed Mom and done this to Brother, but did it even stop there? Was there any limit to how much damage his childishness could do?
Now that Al had murdered and failed to save an innocent little girl and sent his brother falling into fathomlessly more torment than he'd already been in, Alphonse extremely highly doubted it.
"We're ready whenever you are," Alphonse said. He pushed away his discomfort at the knowledge they were about to embark on a journey to talk to someone who had treated countless human lives the same way Tucker had treated Nina. Doctor Marcoh had stopped. He might regret what he'd done. It wasn't Al's place to judge him now.
"I'm ready myself," Major Armstrong replied. "But before we leave, there are things you need to know."
Al braced.
"Laboratory Five has been destroyed and every member of Doctor Marcoh's research team has vanished," the Major informed them, "As well as all the members of three other research teams working in Laboratory Three."
That was nothing they hadn't believed would happen, but it made Al feel worse. The Ishvalan who had saved the Freezer was dead and his brother would rather kill State Alchemists than help them, and now Laboratory Five was no more and they couldn't learn anything from Doctor Marcoh's research team. If Doctor Marcoh himself wasn't trustworthy, couldn't tell them anything, or couldn't point them in the direction of any evidence, they'd be fully at a dead end.
But they'd saved Liore, Al reminded himself. All their beginning efforts hadn't been futile.
"I received a call before you arrived," Mustang spoke. "Liore is a smoldering wreck. We did it."
Al was feeling much better as a result of all the time they'd spent with Nina yesterday and his awareness they'd be playing with her again today, and this improved his mood further.
Brother smiled, and fisted his right hand. Al fisted his left hand and they brought their fists together.
Nina was dead, but that meant something, right?
"But we know where Doctor Marcoh himself is now," Alphonse replied. He'd stopped giving up before Nina had been deformed and killed, so he wasn't going to refrain from talking about the bright side now even though, in countless ways, he now had an even harder time seeing it than when he'd given up. "This is no setback." He cringed at talking about the probable deaths of people as if it was no problem, but he knew he needed to resign himself to speaking this way. They'd likely be doing it again repeatedly in the future.
Brother gave Alphonse a look of relief his brother's visage showed was immeasurably deeper than his face could express at Al being optimistic, but that just slightly comforted Al, because he knew it hadn't caused Brother to feel better more than minisculely.
"That remains to be seen," Hawkeye put in from where she was standing behind the Colonel's desk.
"Is that all?" Brother questioned the Major.
Major Armstrong nodded.
"Then let's move it."
.
Al had never entered Nentid before save for its train station, but they'd stopped at it many times when they'd returned to Resembool for repairs or maintenance, and he was familiar with the sight of the town built on the hill. Nevertheless, he experienced a flicker of the joy he usually felt going somewhere new when they walked onto the path leading from the train station to it.
Armstrong was wearing civilian clothes – brown pants and a black jacket over a lighter brown shirt with a white collar and a black tie – so no one would have reason to believe he was a soldier in the state military. They proceeded up through the town and up the staircase to the porch of the small building Mustang's soldiers had discovered Doctor Marcoh lived in, and Armstrong knocked.
After a number of seconds, the door opened, revealing a short person who matched the description Mustang had given them. Alphonse suppressed a surge of revulsion at the sight of him, and guilt and shame consumed him at his reaction.
Doctor Marcoh's eyes widened at the sight of Armstrong, terror appeared on his face, and he tried to swing his door closed, but Armstrong stuck one foot between the doorframe and the door.
"There's no need for that, Doctor," Armstrong whispered. "We haven't come to take you back." Al suppressed his doubt they were doing the right thing. They didn't know whether Doctor Marcoh was trustworthy, but they knew he most likely wasn't with the Fϋhrer, and risking telling Doctor Marcoh the truth might be the only way they'd learn anything from him. Telling him the truth was their best option. "We know the Stone is transmuted from living human souls," Doctor Marcoh's eyes went wide, "And we want your help in preventing the Fϋhrer from creating any more of them. Are you willing to speak with us?"
Al pushed away his discomfort at the concept of entering Doctor Marcoh's apartment, more shame and guilt consuming him. He looked at Brother, but there wasn't enough emotion on his brother's face for Alphonse to be able to tell how Brother felt about seeing Doctor Marcoh and going into his apartment.
Doctor Marcoh looked warily at Armstrong, undoubtedly unsure if they could be trusted, and then turned to look at Brother and Al. "Who are they?"
"The Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother," Armstrong identified them. "Believe it or not, the short," his brother didn't react visibly at all, and once again Alphonse knew his insides would have twisted violently, "young man is the Fullmetal Alchemist," Doctor Marcoh's eyes widened again, "And the young man in armor is actually a year younger than him."
"That's intriguing," Doctor Marcoh responded in a whisper, "But that two State Alchemists are here gives me even less reason to trust you. That you know how the Stone is transmuted means nothing. You could have learned that from Fϋhrer Bradley. I have nothing to say to you. Take me by force if you must, but I won't talk."
"If we were with the Fϋhrer," Armstrong replied in a whisper, "We would have taken you by force already. Bradley is far more apathetic toward human life than you may be aware of. Or do the words 'nationwide transmutation circle' mean something to you?"
Doctor Marcoh went white, and didn't speak back for several seconds. "All right," he at last replied. "If Bradley was the one who told you about that," Alphonse felt a surge of hope, "You'd probably be ruthless enough to have forced your way in. Let's go inside."
.
Doctor Marcoh gestured for them to take seats at an average-sized square wooden table, and they did. To his further consuming guilt and shame, Al had to push away even more discomfort, at sitting at Doctor Marcoh's table, and at the doctor's table with him.
Doctor Marcoh wasn't the one Alphonse should feel revulsion about. Al himself was. What was wrong with him? He knew better than this.
"How do you know about the nationwide transmutation circle?" Doctor Marcoh asked.
"Do you remember Isaac the Freezer?" Armstrong questioned back.
"Of course," Doctor Marcoh responded. "He was one of the two State Alchemists to which I gave the Philosopher's Stones I transmuted for use in the War of Extermination."
Al's red and white eyes of energy went wide. "Two?" he asked.
"I gave the other to Solf J. Kimblee," Doctor Marcoh replied, "The Crimson Alchemist. He was arrested for murdering five superior officers at the end of the Ishvalan Civil War, though, and I don't know what's become of it since. That the Fϋhrer let him live despite the severity of his mutiny implies he still has it, however. Kimblee's use of the Stone is what brought us victory. McDougal used his sparingly, but Kimblee transmuted with his Stone eagerly and often." Al wished he had a stomach that would heave or twist. He'd accepted the truth now, but that didn't mean he was much more comfortable with what how the military had defeated the Ishvalans. "The government must not have wanted to dispose of such a valuable human weapon."
"At any rate," Armstrong spoke, "McDougal was up to something to try to overthrow the Fϋhrer, but the Fullmetal Alchemist wanted to know why he was committing treason, and McDougal told him and showed him his Philosopher's Stone as proof. McDougal discovered the nationwide transmutation circle when looking into the reason the military had gone as far as it had to suppress the Eastern Rebellion."
"I see," Doctor Marcoh responded. "Where is McDougal now?"
"We don't know," Armstrong spoke back. "Edward Elric convinced him to attempt to overthrow the Fϋhrer in a way that wouldn't shed any blood, and he departed Central after giving us his leads. That's how we know about you. We're hoping you know where we might be able to find evidence of Bradley's crimes against the people. Our goal is to prove to the military at large the Fϋhrer intends to sacrifice the populace, so they'll turn on him. We're hoping, if no one supports them, Bradley and High Command will step down without fighting back."
"A noble goal," Doctor Marcoh rejoined, "But it won't work." Brother frowned, but Doctor Marcoh went on before he could talk. "Bradley has other supporters besides the military. Or perhaps a better term would be 'colleagues' or 'masters.'" Brother's and Armstrong's eyes went wide, and Al's widened again. "When I was working at Laboratory Five, our research was overseen by people outside the military's chain of command who wielded at least as much authority as the Fϋhrer. I don't know who they are or what their position is, but they spoke of Bradley as one would speak of an equal, maybe even an inferior. They were the ones who taught me how to transmute the Philosopher's Stone."
"How does that change anything?" his brother spoke up. "Whether the Fϋhrer is in charge of the alchemists who are going to activate the nationwide transmutation circle, it's the other way around, or they're in league, none of them can defeat all the Amestrian military."
"You're missing the point, Edward," Armstrong spoke. "This is going to make achieving a bloodless revolution more difficult, perhaps impossible. We know where to find the Fϋhrer and High Command. We don't know where these other people are operating from, or how large this group is. So long as they have the shadows they're hiding in to their advantage, they can fight back effectively, and if the group is large enough, there will be bloodshed even if we find out where they operate from."
The blood drained from Brother's face, and reality reeled and tilted. Al had worked with soldiers who had killed before, but he didn't want to believe they might have to shed blood after all when they'd put this much effort into avoiding it.
Brother clenched his teeth. "Not if I can help it. Please, tell us everything you know about these people."
"I already have," Doctor Marcoh responded, "For the most part. All that's left I can think of to say is all of them had an Uroborus tattoo somewhere on his or her body." The serpent that swallowed its tail, symbolizing the cycle of death and rebirth? Why would they wear that?
"That information could prove useful," Brother replied, trying to keep his emotions out of his voice, but Al could tell this was disturbing him, even as tortured as he was about Nina. "Thanks."
"To return to your request," Doctor Marcoh turned back to Armstrong, "Though, I can't help you."
Al had known this might happen, but he still sat stunned. Brother's mouth opened, and Armstrong clenched his teeth.
"Outside of the people with the Uroborus tattoo," Doctor Marcoh continued, "I know no more than McDougal does. I learned the Fϋhrer and his allies are constructing a nationwide transmutation circle as a result of looking into the reason two of my Stones were being used in Ishval, and even then, I doubted my discovery to this day until you told me someone else reached the same conclusion." Al sympathized with him. McDougal had convinced them he was correct about the nationwide circle when he'd told them the horrors the military had inflicted on the Ishvalans, and he was accepting the truth now, but he still didn't want to believe it. "I'm sure McDougal has already told you the names of everyone on my research team, and I have no idea what the other Stones we transmuted are intended for. All I can say is we transmuted hundreds of them."
Al's and Brother's eyes went wide, but Armstrong's didn't.
"I know High Command had at least one other research team working for them," Doctor Marcoh went on, "But they were used as the components for McDougal's Stone. I stole one of the Stones when I deserted," Al suppressed a rush of desire, new shame and guilt consuming him. But he knew he needed to get used to it. It was going to keep happening until they either used a Stone, or knew for sure they shouldn't, "But that won't tell you anything, and I'm not going to give you the medium I use to treat the injured and the sick here. I hid my research notes when I left, but it doesn't reveal anything beyond how to create the facsimiles – I'm sure McDougal has informed you the Stones are fake too. I can tell you Kimblee's Stone was transmuted from Ishvalans who had been serving in our military before the War of Extermination was launched, but that won't benefit you. I have no leads to give you you don't already possess.
"Nor do I know what the Fϋhrer and his allies want a mammoth Stone for." Alphonse wasn't surprised to hear that, but he'd still been holding out hope Doctor Marcoh knew that. All his hopes let down, Al lowered his head. "I'm sorry."
Brother sighed. "Then almost everything we've done so far has been a waste of time." Even lacking as much emotion as they should have had, Alphonse could hear the defeat in his voice. Brother didn't speak further for several seconds, and then laughed bitterly. "Who were we kidding? Us, overthrow the Fϋhrer? We, who couldn't even save a little girl?"
Al went cold. Brother wasn't giving up, was he? "Brother–" he started.
Brother looked at him and forced a smile, and Alphonse indefinably wished he could break down in tears at how blatantly fake it was. "I'm not giving up," Brother reassured him, and Alphonse inexpressibly wished he could cry for a different reason. "If I do, who will take care of you?"
"If that's the case," Major Armstrong put in, "We have information to offer you. Near the end of the Civil War, the Freezer met an Ishvalan alchemist," now Doctor Marcoh's eyes went wide, "who had discovered the government of Amestris had transmuted a network of complete Philosopher's Stones underground over the centuries to inhibit our connection to the tectonic energy we use to transmute." Doctor Marcoh's jaw dropped. "If you intend to fight the Fϋhrer yourself, you can't trust Amestrian alchemy will be reliable."
Doctor Marcoh shook his head. "I just want to hide out here and be a physician to the people of Nentid. I don't have any aspirations of overthrowing Bradley."
"So be it," Armstrong said, and stood up. "That will have to be all, then. If you can give us any assurance we can trust you, however, I'd be thankful."
Doctor Marcoh reached into the right side of his brown jacket and, after a number of seconds, removed a vial with a liquid colored a familiar partially translucent red inside it.
So the Stone truly wasn't always a stone.
"This is the Stone I stole," Doctor Marcoh spoke. "Would I have shown you proof I have this if I was lying to you?"
"That will have to be enough," Armstrong said. "Thank you for your time."
Brother reached into his coat pocket and removed a piece of blank paper and a pen, then wrote a number down on it. "We'll be in Resembool at the house of my automail mechanic, my childhood friend Winry Rockbell," Marcoh's eyes went wide another time, and Alphonse wondered why, "For an unknown number of days. If you think of anything you forgot about, you can reach us at this number."
Doctor Marcoh, his arm now shaking a little for an unknown reason, took it. "I will."
Brother seized his crutch and stood up. "Then let's get out of here."
Alphonse rose and opened the door leading outside for him, trying to keep his own disappointment from showing in how he stood, but he was so worried about Brother he extremely highly doubted he was successful.
.
Tim sat in his chair at the table motionlessly, looking at the number for the Rockbell residence. He'd lost track of the amount of times he'd read it.
Was it possible? Could this actually be the same Rockbell family as the one the doctors who had treated the wounded and sick Ishvalans had come from?
He hadn't wasted time asking himself if he could justify calling their house if it was, and he remembered something important. He knew he never could. So once more he tried to come up with what he would say to one of the Rockbells if there was a relationship.
Once more, he failed, and he sighed heavily. What was the point of this? He'd no more be able to come up with what he would say to one of them than he could justify speaking with them. His hands were too stained for him to be capable of that, and they always would be.
There came a knock on the door to the outside.
Exhaustedly, feeling his age throughout the entirety of his body more than he had before at any time in his life, he walked into the room opening to the outside and opened the door.
His eyes widened in horror.
Before him stood a familiar woman with black hair and an Uroborus tattoo beneath her collarbone.
He attempted to yank the door shut, but the woman reached out with her right hand and held it open.
"I haven't seen you in a long time," she said, "Doctor Marcoh." The woman walked forwards, backing him into the apartment.
She shut the door behind her. "Tell me everything you talked about with the Fullmetal Alchemist, the Strong Arm Alchemist, and Alphonse Elric, as well as what you did with the research notes you stole. If you refuse, I'll kill a number of your recent patients before the day is over."
.
"What was the point of coming here?"-Anonymous Drachman Soldier
FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST: Volume 20:
Chapter 79: BUG BITE
