It's the sort of room that could easily be used for poker. With a wide circular table and only the essential lighting, and located close to the heart of town but still remote, stashed to one side of one of Eastern Headquarter's busiest streets.
Mr. Brigman's cigarette smoke curls into the light, illuminating thick and faded grey. He glances around at the other three, and when nobody says anything, says haltingly, "He is said to be mostly independent. There is a chance he won't go to his superiors...."
The youngest there, a good-looking man in his twenties, slams a hand on the table, instantly silencing the older man. "A slim chance, Brigman! Hardly enough to pin our lives on! Elric is a dog of the military, and when ordered he will report."
"He's still a child," Garwin says, pale but calm. "And rumor has it that he and his commanding officer, Colonel Mustang, aren't the best of friends anyway. We could eliminate him before anyone of importance takes him seriously."
"You underestimate him." There is no room for argument in the fourth man's voice. "The Fullmetal Alchemist is of the most brilliant scientists of the generation. He is talented, powerful, and more importantly, influential. As the 'Hero of the People', he is perhaps the one soldier whose death would cause the citizens themselves to take action."
"Are you sure that you are not merely overestimating his value to the people?" the youngest asks, miffed. "Done right, we could turn this tide of events in our favor."
"I do not doubt," the fourth man murmurs. He doesn't say anything else.
"The Fullmetal alchemist will die, but not quite yet. All in due time… We can't afford to panic and misstep. For now we continue as planned; But proceed with caution." Garwin looks sideways at the youngest man, the other alchemist at the table.
In response, he smiles. "My thoughts exactly. It's time to make history, gentlemen. With our combined genius, it is only a matter of time before the Philosopher's Stone is ours."
Silently, they lift their cups in agreement. At the same time that the four men throw back their drinks, many miles away, Colonel Roy Mustang's office door is being slammed open by a certain short-tempered, donut-munching pipsqueak of an alchemist....
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