A/N: So sorry for taking so long! Again. I'm so happy you're all patient. Well, patient-ish. I've only had a few death threats. Huge, huge thanks to my reviewers, Fyuro, thundaarwoman, and Aiko Marian. I'm so thankful for you guys! You really do inspire me. And I also have a beta-reader, now! Big thanks to Sapphires Frost. I'm excited for my quality of writing to improve. So! Onto the much-awaited chapter. I really hope you all like it.

-InkRoze

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"All of us have ways in which we mask and cover our pain."

- Iyanla Vanzant

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Selim resisted the urge to massage his temples as he followed Jack and Asher down the street, Kate sleepily trudging along at his heels. Ever since the incident with the train hijackers, his headaches had been growing increasingly worse, and the lack of sleep the night before did nothing at all to improve them. To top it all off, his bullet wound throbbed with every step he took. Selim gritted his teeth. Just who does Reed think he is? the Bradley seethed. Bringing my father of all people into this! I do not understand why he insists on starting a fight, and then acting put out when I strike back! Frowning, Selim sighed, and put his hands in his pockets. Of course he understood why Asher said what he did. But it did not give the alchemist the right to act like a petulant child. The half-Ishvalan hadn't even been born during the Massacre, and Selim himself barely knew his father. But the blow to his pride, as trivial as it may have seemed, coupled with his mounting headache and constant state of pain, had caused him to snap. Selim mentally winced a bit. Poor Miss Mustang. She was still a little hesitant to approach him, he had noticed, but that hadn't stopped her from greeting him with a friendly "Good morning!" when he sat down to eat.

He heard occasionally from the staff around his estate that his glares could "melt steel". When he was angry, his control lessened, and that dark part of his mind that he tried to keep hidden seeped past his mental barriers. More than once, he had been in the middle of an angry tirade when a particularly nasty seizure hit. His only challenge now, was keeping his temper in check while Asher openly criticised him. The nerve, he mentally growled. But I'm doing this for the archives! All for the archives. I have a good feeling that what I discover there will pay off, especially after my last… episode. He frowned, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Attempting to distract himself from his darkening thoughts, Selim turned his purple eyes to the town surrounding him. East City was a quaint sort of town, much like West City, but was much better maintained. The streets were clear, and the houses in good condition. The buildings were mostly brick and plaster, but the occasional wooden establishment between stone structures added character and interest. Ishvalan culture, as vibrant and artistic as its people, defiantly made its way into aspects of the town; incarnated as patterned rugs, various traditional facets of architecture, and odds and ends such as pottery and cuisine. Dust, brought by hot, gentle winds, coated everything in a fine layer of tan, washing out the otherwise vivid colours. The warm, stagnant air, unbearable in the middle of the day, had a mineral smell to it, and left a rough taste in the mouth.

"Hey, Bradley?" Selim blinked, and turned from the scenery to face Kate, who was walking with her hands behind her head and her eyes partially closed.

"Yes, Armstrong?" he asked, mimicking her casual address. The blonde pursed her lips and narrowed her visible eye at him.

"That information; about the murder? Where'd you get it?"

"I have my sources," he repeated with a small smirk.

"Sources, hmmn? You make it sound so mysterious, when they just use the phone like everyone else. Drama queen," she huffed.

Selim cast her a sideways glance, "Why would you think that?"

"Don't play cool with me, Vampire Boy. I saw you at the inn's phone this morning when I came down from my room, and I was awake enough to know it was you. Why didn't you just tell us straight? 'I received a phone call from my people; they say there was a murder.'" Kate exaggerated his calm, detached tone of voice. Then she grinned impishly, "Couldn't resist a little showmanship, eh?"

"I beg to differ," he sniffed. "And 'Vampire Boy'? You couldn't coin something with a little more… finesse?"

"Trust me, I'll work on it. I just couldn't resist a little barb at'cha. You're so uptight! With your 'Miss's and your 'Mister's. I'd say it was cute, but you're so not my type."

"Yes, thank you, too much information," Selim interrupted, resisting the childish urge to cover his ears.

"Oh, loosen up. Don't let what Asher said get to ya. We have work to do! Murderers to catch! People to interrogate! Clues to find! We- ack!" Kate tripped over a cobblestone and managed to nearly splinter the unfortunate wooden post she used to catch herself. It cracked neatly in the middle, the two now-separate parts bent at a near thirty-degree angle. The blonde cursed under her breath, attempting to right both planks, but only made more of a mess of the thing. Selim was so occupied being amused, that he almost ran into the stationary Asher's back. Gracefully, he sidestepped the white-haired teenager and turned his attention to the scene in front of them.

Both Jack and Asher were focused on a large crowd of people, Jack on her tiptoes to attempt to see over their heads, and Asher observing the spectacle with his mouth set in a grim line. Kate finally gave up on the wooden post and unabashedly pushed her way to the front of the crowd, with Jack in tow. Both girls focused on what the crowd was gathered around. The Armstrong's mouth dropped open, and her visible eye widened.

"Bloody he-"

"Kate." Despite her warning, Jack couldn't help but agree.

A small squad of military officers dressed in uniform blues were attempting to keep the throng of people still and quiet, but were failing miserably, even with the help of yellow military tape that proclaimed, "DO NOT CROSS" in bold lettering. A few members of the meagre squad were crouched on the ground, around a white, bloodstained sheet obviously draped over a dead body. A hand poked out of the cover, coloured a delicate white, curled in a fist and clutching a wilted white flower tied with a yellow ribbon.

There was blood everywhere.

It pooled on the cobbles, on the steps of the shop, spattered across a once-cheerful sandwich board, and retreated in a line of footprints leaving the scene.

Kate scrunched up her nose, feeling more than a little queasy.

"I didn't know there could be that much blood in one person," she muttered, turning her eyes away from the gore and to the military men instead. She watched them examine the scene with their practised eyes. Two men, who Kate mentally pegged as forensics specialists, were crouched around the body, and had lifted up a corner of the sheet to examine it. Kate herself may have no idea what to look for in a crime scene, but logic required an examination of the murder victim- as gory and awful as it sounded to her- so there she would start. But right as she turned to find a way near the body, something- or someone- caught her eye. A young woman, blonde, with dull, sunken grey eyes and a too-pale complexion hovered around the edge of the crowd. Her arms were wrapped around herself in a defensive gesture, and her eyes kept flicking from the military men to the shop, her expression indecisive. Something about her held Kate's attention. Setting her jaw, the Armstrong slipped quietly into the crowd. Only Selim noticed her leave, and he carefully watched as she made her way toward the woman.

Asher surveyed the gruesome scene dispassionately. He had seen and investigated his fair share of grisly deaths, including some he had caused himself, when it had been necessary. He was by no means unaffected or uncaring; more along the lines of… desensitised. Something about this particular scene, however, made him take pause and examine what he could see. The killer, whoever he or she was, made no effort to hide. No effort to cover any evidence; almost as if he or she had committed murder on a whim, and could care less if anyone caught him or her.

Is this related to what we're investigating? he briefly wondered. Though a tangible, obvious murder is much different than simple urban myths. Asher narrowed his eyes behind his dark goggles, and began to scan the present military squad for the resident State Alchemists. Where are they? he wondered briefly. This may not be an emergency, but they should still be here, especially with the supposed other murders going on around town. Frowning, he turned his gaze to the crowd, searching through the faces for two in particular. He caught a glimpse of black hair in the crowd across from him, and glanced toward it, only to be met with a piercing, dark green stare. Asher stared back, and nodded once.

The man blinked in response, disappearing seamlessly into the crowd. Asher let out a quiet breath of exasperation. Of all State Alchemists to take up this particular region, and it had to be them. He was not looking forward to this at all; especially after he started poking around in their city. In fact, he mused, I should demand extra pay for this. Don't you agree, Ishvala? It's only fair. Equivalent Exchange and all that, right?

"Asher?" Shaken out of his thoughts, the State Alchemist calmly turned toward Jack, who was looking up at him strangely. Selim was also watching him, a calculating glint in his dark eyes. Asher tried to ignore him.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Are… are you alright?"

"Yes," he said shortly. Then, "Where's Kate?" Jack opened her mouth to answer, but shut it quickly when she noticed that her friend was nowhere to be seen. The girl sighed, and rubbed at her forehead with her palm.

"Ka-a-a-ate…." she growled. "What a time to run off!"

"Ah, I believe she's over there," Selim subtly pointed to a spot on the edges of the crowd, "By that blonde woman." Sure enough, Kate was conversing quietly with a pale woman, maybe in her late twenties, who seemed to be in a daze. Jack rolled her eyes and pushed a few taller people out of the way as she tromped over to her best friend. The frazzled young woman looked up as the Mustang approached, but Kate ignored her and kept talking. Jack could make out her words as she stepped closer.

"…Not with the Military, ya know," Kate stated calmly. "I'm no gossip, I'm not out looking for a story. I'm not even from around here! I only wanna know what happened. Why not tell me if I might be able to help?" she persisted. "I know people. Ya don't even have to talk to them. I promise not to mention you at all." The woman shifted on her feet, casting a glance toward the military men.

"But you're so young…" she muttered hesitantly. Kate twitched.

"I'm sixteen, lady. I promise I can handle it."

"Kate?" Jack interrupted, "What's going on?"

"This lady knows something," Kate answered. "She told me she doesn't want to talk to the military, so I'm trying to convince her to tell me what it is, but it's not working."

"You told her we're from out of town, right?" Jack hummed thoughtfully, "That might be your problem. People are less likely to trust strangers from outside the area than strangers inside it." The woman gave them both a tired, flat look.

"I'm standing right here, you know," she reminded the teenagers.

"You're going about it all wrong," came Asher's voice from behind them. Jack did a double take. He was smiling easily, his tone friendly, with his jacket undone and his goggles skewed sideways over his face to conceal only his mechanical eye, leaving his real one uncovered. The casual, lopsided look, coupled with his equally lopsided smile, lent him an odd sort of rogueish charm. Both Kate and Jack stared at the sudden transformation. What in the world had happened to the taciturn alchemist with an obsession for professionalism? It was as if he were an entirely different person.

"Hello," Asher greeted, holding out a hand for the woman to shake, which she did. "I'm called Asher. These are my colleagues, Jack and Kate," he pointed at each girl respectively, "And you are?" The young woman looked up at him, tears of frustration and fear still gathered at the corners of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Jennie. Jennie Wagner," she sniffled. "I work at this shop. Dahlia… Dahlia was my boss."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wagner." Jack blinked. What? She's talking! How did he do that?

"He's attempting the 'charm and disarm' technique, as they call it in the espionage circles," Selim whispered by her ear. Jack jerked, surprised. She hadn't even noticed him come to stand next to her. She turned her head to see him smirking, and huffed.

"Even though Reed himself isn't the most savoury of characters, with the proper application, the method is very effective, I'm afraid," he finished. Asher continued speaking, oblivious.

"If you do know anything that could help catch the criminal," Jack noticed Asher's careful avoidance of using the word "murderer", "You could save other people's lives. I understand if you don't want to talk to the military- too much fuss, too much paperwork, too many rumours- but if you tell us, we can relay the information on your behalf, and no one will be the wiser."

"That's what I was saying!" Kate whined. She was ignored. The grey-eyed woman hesitated, and looked up at Asher for a few long moments.

"I… I saw the man who k… who k-killed her," she whispered, finally. "I was leaving the shop- I came in through the back to get a coat I left- and he… he came out of nowhere, with a flower, like he always used to. Neither of them noticed I was there. I didn't want to… interrupt, you know? In case it really was him. So I hid behind the counter. I wasn't really sure what was going on, and it happened so fast-!" Hysteria tinged the edges of her voice. Jennie noticed, and cut herself off, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Asher soothed, keeping his reassuring smile. "Did you recognise him? You don't have to answer if you don't wan-"

"He was her husband, but… he wasn't," Jennie interrupted softly.

"What do you mean?" Selim asked, his mind trying to connect the dots. The woman choked back a sob, and the story proceeded to tumble out of her, as if floodgates had been broken.

"He looked like him. Sounded like him; he had the flower and everything. I… I was hiding, so I missed a lot of what went on, but when I eventually decided to look, Dahlia was on her knees, and he… he…" she swallowed thickly, her eyes hard and determined. "He ran her through. Some sort of really long blade. It was pretty dark, so I couldn't get a good look. The blood… the blood was everywhere. I wasn't sure what to do! Someone was just murdered, and he was impossible, and he… changed. Somehow, he was different, and he looked at me. Right at me, and he grinned and it was horrible! I was terrified, so I ran… I ran." Her voice was a barely audible rasp. Asher maintained his open, compassionate façade, but inwardly, he couldn't help a dark feeling of satisfaction. She had wanted to tell her story, and with just a little harmless, positive manipulation, she opened up to complete strangers. He had Arugo, again, to thank for his interrogation skills. Then something Jennie had said during her near-hysterics prodded at his mind.

"Why would he be impossible?" he asked. Jennie's dull grey eyes stared hard into Asher's vivid red.

"Her husband died four and a half years ago," she stated simply. "He burned to death."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Viktor Morozov had been an uncomplicated man, and content to be so.

He'd liked the constant Drachman winter, with its harsh whites and greys. He'd liked rice and meat and potatoes. He had never lied, but, instead, spoke only the truth with brutal honesty. He'd followed a strict routine- every day- and never deviated from it. He had been satisfied to be alone with his thoughts, and never sought any entertainment outside of his heavy, leather-bound histories. He used to live by himself, during the early years of his life, and never bothered to make many friends or lasting relationships. Then, in his mid-thirties, he had met Chavaleh, and his life had changed.

She had been beautiful, and built daintily, like a faerie. She'd had the darkest eyes he had ever seen, and short, close-cropped chestnut hair. She had been nearly as straightforward as he, only she with more fire; more spunk. She had never been afraid to tell someone she didn't like them, and always spoke her mind. It took him two weeks to anger her enough to literally punch him in the face, three months for them to fall in love, and only a year and a half for them to be married. They had one little boy, whom he named Mikhail after his father. Then the war with Amestris had come, and he had been drafted into the Drachman army, along with Chavaleh's father, brother, and cousin. He'd had no family to speak of- none that were alive, at any rate- and strove to protect his wife's, instead. On the battlefield bordering Amestris, in the snowy mountain pass before Briggs, he had chosen to take a bullet aimed for her brother. His only regret being that he hadn't held Chavaleh and his son in his arms once more and told them he loved them. He went down just another soldier, just another casualty in a pointless, one-sided battle, and bled out slowly onto the crimson-tainted snow as his fellow soldiers- even Chavaleh's brother- fell around him. He was dead, then; the most uncomplicated state possible.

Viktor Morozov had been an uncomplicated man.

Until, almost twenty years after his death, he opened his eyes.

And breathed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So, lemme get this straight: a guy who looked exactly like Dahlia's dead husband, even sounded like him- but wasn't him- stuck her with a knife? How does that make any sense?"

"Kate, a little tact would be sensible, please," Selim admonished. "And murder rarely makes sense." The Armstrong rolled her eyes.

"Would you mind giving me a description of the man?" Asher asked genially. Kate shot him a strange look. She was beginning to feel a little unnerved by the "friendly" thing he had going on. Sure, he was charming, and maybe if she weren't so turned off by his attitude in general, she might have been interested, but this sudden pretence of his; it was unsettling. It just wasn't him. Or, at least, the "him" she had been getting to know. But maybe this was the real him? Maybe his aloofness was just a mask of insecurities. Kate figured she'd probably never know, and resigned herself to it. She didn't really care all that much, to begin with.

"A description? Let me think for a second," Jennie hummed. "Well, at first, he had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in his mid-forties. Maybe six feet tall?" she concluded, her face slightly scrunched up in thought.

"You said he changed; what did you mean by that?" Asher inquired, his smile still focused on the blonde woman. Jennie froze.

"He… just… changed. I'm not crazy, I swear! It really happened!" Selim frowned, his headache increasing slightly. Something smoky and intangible in the back of his mind stirred at her words, and the throbbing in his temples only intensified as she continued to speak. Her high-pitched voice is terribly grating on the ears, he thought waspishly.

"I believe you," Asher reassured the woman. Jennie took a breath to calm herself.

"Alright. But remember that I couldn't see very well; it was dark. One second, Mr. Jacobson was standing there, covered in Dahlia's blood, and the next, there was someone else. He was shorter and smaller. Less muscular. He was pale. Far too pale to be healthy." As she said this, she glanced at Selim, who paid her no attention. His headache was beginning to irritate him.

"Whoever it was had long, dark hair-"

… A flash of green …

"-it was a little stringy, and spiked at the ends-"

… that laugh; grating, screeching, sick, awful, cruel …

"-and their grin… It was… terrible-"

… a raspy voice, mocking, hiding, defending, reflecting, instigating …

"-but their eyes were the worst-"

… "You're always looking down on me! I've had enough of you!" …

"-they were feline, and soulless. I… I was so scared!" Selim bit back a snarl as he felt small tremors begin to tug at his limbs. No, not now! I don't need an episode now, of all times!

… the weakness, the obsession, the cowardice, the ruthless torment of those weaker than he. All He could manage to feel toward him was disgust and contempt …

Selim pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave a mark, his free hand curled in a white-knuckled fist.

Shut up, he demanded, Shut up!

"Selim?" The Bradley blinked, torn from the maelstrom of images and glanced down at Jack, who was giving him a concerned look.

"Are… are you alright? You look a little… well, paler than usual," she joked weakly. He gave her a thin smile.

"I'm alright, Miss Jacqueline. I'm fine."

Because he was. He was fine.

Just fine.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-