The Bloody Boar was a small pub located in the slums of Central City. Not many people knew of it, and those who did, made their best to keep away. Others, who did visit regularly, would never be able to tell you why many avoided it. The food and drink were well prepared, the service was quick, and the atmosphere was quiet and comfy. Of course, those people would never consider the fact that they themselves were the reason most stayed away.
It is true that the pub's usual customers were considered, well...different, in the public's eye. Outcasts, criminals, even Ishbalans drank and slept in the neighboring inn.
The day was chilly. Rain was falling in buckets, as it had been straight through morning, and still through the late afternoon. Nevertheless, business for the old pub was the same as it had been, and probably would be every other day. The bartender, a gruff-looking middle aged man, stood at the counter, cleaning a glass mug with a torn rag. A pair of shabby old men sat by a dirty window, drinking and having a inaudible discussion among themselves. Other than that, a younger woman sat at the counter beside with a mug; surrounded by about another two dozen empty glasses, and a different lone figure sat at a table in a darker corner of the establishment.
The creaky opening of the pub door set off the sound of ringing bells, and all eyes went to the soaked form that stepped into the shelter. A pair of heavy, black boots sloshed on the wooden floor that creaked under the weight. The stranger made his way to the lone figure in the corner, and upon arriving at his destination, removed his black trench coat, placing it over a worn out chair. He sat down in the chair next to it across from the figure, both wearing an equal amount of black. A minute passed with the two sitting silently. When the newcomer was sure the other occupants had gone back to their own business, he spoke.
"Nice place."
The other signaled for the bartender to bring himself and his new partner a drink, then leaned forward, speaking for the first time.
"You failed, didn't you?" The man's voice was low and dangerous.
The other looked away frowning, refusing to respond to the sudden accusation.
"Verdock."
The pair quickly backed away as the bartender approached with two overflowing mugs of what seemed to be beer. The glasses made loud clacking noises as they were set on the table. After waiting a few seconds for the intruder to leave, they resumed their conversation.
"Witnesses," the man – Verdock started, "If I fried the brat, I would have had to fry them as well."
The other man let out a slow, shaky breath, not believing his ears.
"You let two useless beings stand in your way? What am I paying you for?"
"You're paying me to take out the kid. I'm not getting payed to get rid of anyone in between."
"Well, you are now."
Both exchanged looks, each testing the other.
"No more screw-ups," hissed the man. He grabbed his black cloak, dropped coins on the table for his half-empty beer, and left.
Verdock studied one of the coins the other man had payed with, a thoughtful look on his wet face. Draining the rest of his beer, he payed his own tab, and left the pub. As he walked back out into the rain he couldn't help but wonder if it was really worth it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The document storeroom in Central Headquarters held all sorts of confidential files and information. In order to even have access to the room itself, one needed special permission from very important people...or good connections.
Roy Mustang had good connections. Only that could explain his unauthorized presence in the exclusive room.
The military kept records of everyone; alive or otherwise. At the moment, Mustang was searching through military casualties. Beginning at the most recently deceased and working his way down; picking files off the many dusty shelves and tossing them needlessly away. As he skimmed through each folder, he named off the cause of death to himself.
'...shot in chest...beaten to death...infected knife wounds...'
Nothing of importance there. He had been searching for an hour now, looking for specific causes of death.
'...crushed under fallen materials...accidental shooting...stabbed to death...fatal burns...'
Finally. Hastily opening the file to see further, Mustang read it's contents.
"General Harley Morgan found dead September 17th, 1913. Death resulting from fatal burns covering the entire body..."
He closed the folder, placing it aside for the time being and began to search on. It wasn't long before he came across a similar case.
"Brigadier General Lyon Collins dead September 13th, 1913. Rushed to Central Hospital after receiving serious burns encasing the body. Died 0152 hours from oxygen-deficiency..."
Once again, he placed it aside and continued to search through the military records. The further he went, the more incidents he found.
"...First Lieutenant Rachel Jorkins...September 11th...excessive burning...September 9th...Colonel John Tamper...burns and lack of oxygen...fatal burns...September 7th...suffocation...September 3rd...General Bart Simmerman...Sergeant Lucas Williams...cause of injuries unknown..."
The dates of death were extremely close together, some even occurring on the same day. Hundreds of deaths alike...how could he not have heard of this?
When he felt he'd gotten enough from the military he turned to citizen deaths. The records he found were no different, although less frequent. 'It looks like we can cross off the chances of a psychotic murderer taking revenge on the military...' Mustang thought grimly to himself.
He gathered all related cases he could find occurring in the past few months and exited the room. On his way out he ran into Schieska. Being in charge of organizing and keeping the records room, she had been the one to sneak him some time inside.
"Oh! Colonel Mustang, Sir!" she squeaked. Her head turned from Mustang to the huge pile of files in his hands, a worried expression on her face, "You should hide those! General Hakuro is scheduled to use the records room. He'll be here any moment!"
A frown replaced the usual smirk on Mustang's face. How the hell was he supposed to hide a stack of paper this size?
As if summoned by some bizarre force, the General appeared around the corner. Spotting the two he put on a smile and greeted them both.
"Colonel Mustang, Shieska."
"Good afternoon, General," said Shieska in a slightly nervous voice, as Mustang saluted. General Hakuro nodded to her, then looked down to the pile in Mustang's arm, and back to him with a sympathetic expression.
"Looks like you've got a lot of work to do, Colonel."
Mustang praised his luck and put on an exhausted look.
"Unfortunately. It's been like this for awhile now."
"You have my sympathies." he patted him on the shoulder and continued down the hall.
Both Mustang and Shieska exchanged looks and each let out a sigh of relief. Their moment of liberation was short-lived however, as Hakuro's voice suddenly sounded from down the hall.
"Shieska! What on earth have you done to this room!?"
She looked to Mustang, who gave her an remorseful look, and ran down the hall shouting apologies to the General.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"It looks like our Fire friend has struck again."
"Who did he grill this time?"
"The Fullmetal Alchemist."
"That kid?"
"He survived, though."
"But still. That won't last long."
"Hmm...that does present a problem."
"Yes. We can't have one of our most precious State Alchemists murdered."
"It was extremely lucky that he survived."
"We won't be able to cover this up very well, if at all."
"If we can prevent it, we won't have to, and our problem is solved."
"For now."
"Right."
"One issue still remains."
"Who to choose."
"You don't know?"
"Haven't you ever heard that old saying..."
"Fight fire with fire?"
"Exactly."
A/N
So yeah. I don't know is Shieska is how you really spell her name but oh well. It WAS supposed to be longer but I got bored of the extra scene so it was executed. Not much going on cause Ed is taking so long to heal points accusing finger. Anyways, whatever.
HP5? Um yeah. It was kool in 3D, and better than 4, but it could have used a lot of work.
Cheese out.