Chapter 4:
Sweat beads down Mustang's face. His eyes are bloodshot and lifeless. His breath is heavy and hot. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest as he sits at his desk, grips the phone tightly in his hand as he puts it back on the receiver.
What do I do? He thinks.
What should I-
"General Mustang!"
The office door opens and Fury steps in. "We just received news that th-"
He stops at the sight of Mustang's tears.
"Sir?"
"I WANT ALL MY MEN ON THIS CASE! WHEN YOU REPORT, YOU REPORT TO ME!"
"Sir Yes Sir!"
Mustang's fists are clenched. His jaw is tight. Everything about him resembles the fire in his eyes as he paces down the hallway, his only focus on the mission at hand.
"General." Armstrong is at his side. "May I ask what your strategy is?"
Mustang doesn't stop for even a second. Doesn't look Armstrong in the eye as he answers.
"My strategy is simple. Do whatever it takes to get her back!"
Armstrong knows it's a risk. Knows it might end horribly. But he doesn't protest as they exit the building, realizing that the only thing they can do now, is try...
Mustang crosses to the black car waiting outside. Opens the door and steps in.
"Sir?"
Armstrong crosses to the window, looks Mustang in the eye.
"Be careful."
Mustang nods as he starts to drive. His mind is racing, a million thoughts simultaneously stream through his head.
I'll kill them. I'll make them pay for what they've done!
Tears fill his eyes.
Whatever it takes to keep her safe! Even if it means risking my life!
His vision blurs. The road turns into a fuzzy sea of color.
He whips away his eyes. This is no time for letting his emotions cloud his judgment. This is the time to think. To act. To fight.
"He's arrived, sir."
The beefy man in the dark suit smiles as he sets down his martini glass.
"Perfect," he says to the man with the crooked teeth behind him. "Now listen very carefully, this man is unpredictable. I have made it very clear that any false move will result in her termination, however, we can never be sure if this news has made a dent in his stubborn little head."
He pauses, reaches down to his feet and picks up a black briefcase. Clicking it open, he pulls out two small guns and hands one to his colleague.
"Just in case he gets any ideas, have this on you at all times."
The other man nods. "Sir, just to clarify, what's the plan?"
His boss smiles as he slips the gun into his suit pocket. "Keep on the girl until I'm done talking to him. Once I'm sure he hasn't brought along any of his friends, I'll give you the signal to bring her up front. However," the man stares deep into his eyes, "make sure you have a gun to her head the whole time. We never know what he might have in store."
As he crosses to the other side of the room, the man behind asks, "And what happens after he's told us what we want to know?"
The boss grins, steps out into the hallway, and just before he closes the door, looks back at the scraggy man now standing alone.
"We kill them both!"
The house appears to be abandoned. It's windows are dark and tattered. The paint on the front door is chipping and the wooden steps on the porch are rotting away. Mustang drives slowly, stops when he reaches the end of the driveway.
The area is surrounded by a field. It's grass is golden-brown and obviously dying from a lack of water. It looks rather like a giant coffee stain, stretching out for about a quarter mile, until it cuts off at the edge of a dark forest.
Mustang steps out of the car. His eyes dart from one end to the other, examining his surroundings before walking to the old-fashioned door. The boards creak underneath his feet, much like an alarm or guard dog.
His coat is heavy. His eyes are tired. He looks like he's just walked away from a fight.
But he knows it's the other way around. He's walking into one...
As he raises his arm to knock, the door creaks open. The room inside is small and relatively clean, as if it's served home to someone recently.
It probably has, Mustang realizes.
When he walks in, the scent of cigarette smoke is almost unmistakable. Being around Havoc has made it quiet recognizable.
Suddenly, the door closes behind him. Mustang spins around to see a man with an amused expression standing in the middle of the walkway. He's burly and tall, with a dark stripped suit and a statement pair of sunglasses covering his eyes.
"Well, if it isn't the Flame Alchemist in the flesh," he chides.
He reminds Mustang of an old time gangster more than anything, but he knows better than to underestimate him. It would've taken more than a gangster to take Hawkeye down.
Hawkeye!
"Where is she?!" Mustang bleats, not really in the mood for introductions.
The man grins wider. "You'll see her in due time, but first," he demands, "I need to check you for anything questionable."
Mustang can feel his anger begin to rise, but this isn't the time to let it interfere with what needs to be done. He needs to make sure Hawkeye is safe.
The man proceeds to pat him down, searching for any traces of weapon or transmutation circle.
"You didn't bring anyone with you, am I right?"
Mustang clenches his bare fists, feeling a little uneasy without his gloves. "Yes."
The man grins wider as he finishes checking Mustang's pockets.
"You're clean," the man confesses. He steps back, as if needing to take it all in, before crossing to the other end of the room to pick up a set of chairs. He carries them back, sets one down next to Mustang, who is only just now noticing the double doors in the back of the room.
He wants to burst through them, wants to find Hawkeye on the other side, alive and well. But he knows it's no use. If she had been alive and well, he wouldn't be here.
"Sit," the man commands.
Mustang doesn't hesitate to do as he's told.
The man in the suit sits in his chair as well, stares back at Mustang as if he were an animal in a cage.
"Now then, let's get down to business..."
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
Mustang stares at the man sitting across from him. Notices his cool demeanor. His stylish shoes. He doesn't know why, but something about him is off. He's too calm. Too collective. Like he's playing a game. And he's won.
"Very well," the man sits up out of his chair.
Mustang rises with a piercing stare and gritted teeth. "Now give her back!"
The man doesn't respond.
Mustang yells louder. "I TOLD YOU WHAT YOU WANTED TO KNOW! NOW GIVE HER BACK!"
The man removes his glasses with a devious grin.
"Funny thing," he begins, placing the shades in his inner jacket pocket, "but I really have no use for either one of you now."
He pulls out a small gun, aims it at Mustang. "So I think it's time we said goodbye."
Mustang doesn't waver. His eyes stay fixed, his breath stays steady. He shows no signs of fear as he stands there, motionless, fixated on the silver barrel staring back at him.
The man snickers. After all, it's over. There's nothing more that could happen. Nothing more that could possibly change his victory. That is, until...
"I couldn't agree more."
Clap! Snap!
