Chapter Three: 1907
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Theofil gingerly sipped his hot tea, the soothing aroma wafting through his nostrils and the liquid warming the back of his throat. His three darling rats snuggled under his right palm, and he caressed their fur, taking care to control the pressure of his strokes.
'This is the great life,' he thought. Everything he had ever wanted was here, bestowed upon him by his own hands, when he snatched those seven days from right under Roy Mustang's nose.
He smirked as he heard the man cursing him, accompanied by half-assed challenges spurting forth for Theofil to face Mustang and settle the matter once and for all.
The Deal Alchemist had no plans to humor the rat by agreeing.
He had come so far after all.
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Roy Mustang, 22 years old
"…See this array on my glove here? This will raise oxygen concentration around something flammable…like a tree, an escape vehicle…the hand of a terrorist…
"Here. Let me demonstrate."
Snap!
The sharp cracking sound produced by his index finger and thumb summoned forth a rush of flames that circled the room. His audience (East City generals, colonels, other high-ranking people, his sponsor Grumman) leaned back a little as the searing heat rushed past. Some of them whispered. But their faces—
Roy could see bloodlust etched in some. Thoughtfulness in others. Definite fear in one or two. Even Grumman's glasses glinted with a strange sort of light that most definitely was NOT a reflection of his flames.
Snap! KABOOM!
A spark. Concentration of gases rising. Instant destruction.
To be fair, exploding hay-stuffed dummies looked pretty underwhelming, especially as target practice. But if Roy mentally replaced the hay with parts of human—
'This,' Roy's stomach flipped 'was a bad idea.'
The head alchemist of the panel jerked his arm to the side, a sign that he was to stop his demonstration. Said alchemist, with a grin stretching from ear to ear, marched towards Roy and shook his hands in congratulations.
"You'll certainly pass," he promised him in a gruff voice. "You'll be able to help the people of Amestris with your alchemy."
Roy bowed. "Thank you, sir."
"Too controlled, though."
The black haired man blinked as he straightened his back, confused. "Sir?"
The head alchemist brushed some imaginary dirt from his two-starred epaulets. "From what you've shown us, your alchemy seems only capable of individual casualties. Target practice is different from when you're doing fieldwork, Mustang. Show us—" a beefy hand compressed into a fist directly in front of Roy's face "—the most powerful attack you could render in a place like this."
Perspiration emerged on Roy's brow. His master, Berthold Hawkeye, had drilled into him again and again that fire should be kept measured. Precise. Master Hawkeye once told him that if fire were substantial he would quantify its amount piece by fiery piece in a measuring cup. What he is being asked to do now is to annihilate. But then, what else could've Roy expected the military required of him? A measly fireworks display for the masses?
He raised his head to face his evaluator, gauging the cold mask. The head alchemist raised an eyebrow in casual challenge, and Roy realized he was being sized up based on how obedient a dog of the military he could be.
Well. He started this. No getting cold feet and turning back.
He eyed the wall behind the panel, and as if reading his mind, the head alchemist spun and directed his associates away, giving Roy free reign.
"Go ahead," the head alchemist encouraged him, patting his back once (and Roy could almost sense the imaginary knife digging in between his shoulder blades with that blow). "The State has plenty of money to pay for damages."
But the State cannot simply buy Roy's morals. And Roy discerned the head alchemist has read him well. He'd been cornered. So there was only one thing for him to do.
He held his arm as far away as he could from himself. He held it still for a second…two…three…
SNAP!
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"Applause. Applause."
The red-haired man waiting outside the examination hall fumed angrily as he heard the smattering of praise coming from inside. He was sitting with his butt flat on the floor after an earth-shattering sound disrupted his gentleman routine. The nerve! Now his tea was splattered all over the side table, going drip drip drip dangerously close to his immaculately clean coat sleeve.
Of course, Mustang would do well! Mustang would pass! What else did he expect?!
He straightened from his position then stood, exhaling sharply through his nose. He grabbed his umbrella from where it had toppled over beside him. In a moment, Mustang would walk through the doors and he'd show him up through mere height. Because if he couldn't equal that man in his supposed charm, then he could at least surpass him in inches!
Mustang and Hughes. Interchangeably first and second. Nobody ever gives a thought about the consistent third in rank.
Mustang, top-Ranked in Battle Strategies. Hughes, top-Ranked in Academics. And himself, Theofil Vertrag, top-Ranked in Nothing.
Well…at least he got a reward for being third: a resounding slap in the face by his mother (now deceased thank goodness) who shouted that he wouldn't ever live up to his late father's legacy. Legacy his buttocks. He'd rather study alchemy forever.
It was what his father would've wanted for him anyway. So did his three older siblings and childhood friend. Or they had.
Yes, alchemy. While Mustang found himself a social recluse/hermit/loner for a teacher, Theofil had top-notch tutors. Mustang had been allowed to horse around, mooching off a branch of the science created by his master, while Theofil had developed his own. Something that would actually help people, not decimate houses to later be recycled on as firewood.
His train of thought derailed when the doors to the hall opened and a pair of military officers stepped out. "Mr. Theofil…Vert-rag," one of them read off a piece of paper.
"It's pronounced 'Ver-tack'," Theofil snapped, making a guttural sound with the last syllable. The addressed officer looked unimpressed, and only simply gestured for him to enter.
Right. Once Theofil had been declared a State Alchemist, his first command to the lesser ranked would be for them to spell and pronounce his name right.
Not Bertrag.
Not Vertgag.
It's Vertrag.
He snubbed the officer and held his chin up as he walked past Mustang who was on his way out. True to his earlier word to himself, he unbent his spine, making sure it was as straight as a pole, and inwardly smirked at the fact that he towered over Mustang by a whole inch and a half.
And yet…Mustang hadn't even glanced at him. Rude! Degrading even…to be ignored!
Can't that idiot not occupy himself with his thoughts for a second and see that a RIVALRY is going on here?!
He let out a cross huff before remembering where he was. Then like a politician, he wiped his face clean of any sign of irritation and plastered on a smile that could most certainly pass as genuine. He strolled forwards confidently and presented before the members of the panel…who were standing by the side. There was a giant hole in the wall, or rather; there was no wall at all.
"Mustang's work," Theofil grumbled. "Can't even leave a room clean for the next applicant."
"Theofil Vert-rague."
Keeping his annoyance in check, he respectfully replied. "It ends with a 'g,' but it's pronounced as 'Ver-tack', sir."
"Theofil Vertrag," the head alchemist amended, pronouncing it right this time. "Please proceed with your demonstration. Do you require chalk?"
"Sir," Theofil nodded.
Almost immediately, another officer stepped forward and handed him a long piece from a box. He silently studied the writing tool. Chalk. Calcium carbonate. Smooth-edged. Just the way he liked it. So he knelt down and began sketching his circle.
It was a prototype. One that seems a bit too simplistic for his tastes since it was only made up of basic shapes like squares, circles, and semi-circles. But he knew it was only a starting branch of Alchemy, and reasoned that he was applying for the SA program to expand his work using precious research material.
Theofil cocked his head to the side and winced as his neck cricked. He signed his name in looping cursive twice on the north and south of the array and sighed. There was still another circle to complete.
Walking at least ten feet away from the first one, he sketched out a circle a bit more complicated than the first, one that contained triangles and a hexagon. Outside the outermost ring, he wrote 'Delectamentum Mes Capsicum assum et pullum magna laminam yum yum yum' plus the other words that were necessary.
Once he'd finished his work, he stood, went back to the first one, and opened his arms wide.
"I present to you my contract alchemy!" he spoke to those present, which he noticed was a lot less than what Mustang had. Well, it was their loss. Not his.
'An audience was an audience, no matter how small,' he thought with optimism.
Theofil dug his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled out something shiny.
"This is a pellet of gold." He stepped forward and showed the panel the valuable piece of metal, no more than ten millimeters in size. Two out of the five members of the panel nodded, while the other three remained stoic. Theofil focused on the head alchemist.
"Sir," he said. "How much do you think would this cost?"
The head alchemist studied the gold pellet. "Twenty-four karat, yes? Around two thousand five hundred cenz, give or take."
Theofil grinned. "About the price of a meal in fancy restaurant, yah? Thing is…"
In one swift movement, he had dropped the gold grain in the first circle and slapped his palms on the ground. The familiar hum of alchemic lightning filled his ears, and his nerves tingled with excitement. The light from the first circle arched and connected with the second one. He could see the end product slowly taking form.
After a few more seconds, the light died down. There in the middle of the output circle, was a large plate of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. It even looked freshly cooked, the chicken giving off vapors of that honeyed scent, and the mashed potatoes were coated in gravy.
Now the panel looked curious. Theofil could see it in their faces. Where was the Equivalent Exchange? How could a piece of gold turn into food?!
The head alchemist moved and examined the meal. He picked it up and ordered an officer to bring him a knife and fork. Once he was given what he needed, he cut himself a juicy piece (the panel tried not to look like they wanted to drool), and ate it.
"It's genuine," he marveled, and laid the plate on their table. The members of the panel immediately asked for their own utensils. "Explain Mr. Vertrag. How does this work?"
"See, sir—" Theofil beamed "—my arrays take into account the human value placed on an object and replaces them with something of the same value in human terms. In this case—" he gestured at the meal "—two thousand five hundred cenz amount in gold for a tender dinner."
The head alchemist frowned. "But how? Your arrays are simple as they come. Amateurish even."
Theofil swallowed past the retort building up in his throat. "I believe that the food came from somewhere—"
"You mean you don't know?" a member of the panel inquired, a chunk of chicken hanging from his mouth.
"All I know is that the exchange transpired on a separate plane of existence," Theofil clarified. "I'm not sure how…or where, but I will look into it more."
"It's too domestic," the head alchemist commented in a harsh tone. "Why should we accept you?"
Theofil simply glanced at him as he swept his foot to erase all the words except 'Mes' then started walking back to the first array, dropping things as he did so: a quarter-filled bottle of iodine and a bottle of ammonia in the output array; another pellet of gold in the middle of the two transmutation circles and lastly…
"I'd step back if I were you," he told the panel. Immediately, they clambered away, and Theofil dropped his last gold grain in the input array, his hand triggering the reaction—
—electricity arched twice—
B O O M!
The explosion rocked the room, and everyone present tried to shield themselves as chunks of rocks rained down upon them. Not too big thankfully. When the audience and panel attempted to compose themselves, they beheld the small crater in the middle of the hall. Theofil was near the doors, a good thirty feet away from the impromptu bomb. He held his umbrella open in front of him. Which, upon closer look, seemed to be made of aluminum.
Snapping it close with a shink, he stared deadpan at the panel.
"Nitrogen triiodide," he said as he drank in their shocked expressions. "Highly volatile. Not to be trifled with. It's a good thing gold is biologically nonreactive and balances the exchange. A blood offering, on the other hand…"
He didn't finish the statement. This was just a way into the military. He wouldn't actually waste his alchemy on something as mindless as using a bomb.
"What you did can easily be replicated." The head alchemist straightened from his crouched position, glaring at him and challenging him head on. "We already have at least two state alchemists who can do far more efficient destruction than you."
Ah…after everything he had done, he still has to earn his success.
"You know, sir…" Theofil adopted an air of confidence. "You see that first array? Have you wondered why I needed to sign mah name?"
The head alchemist didn't even dignify his question with a response.
He continued anyway, "There's a perfectly sound reason why I call my alchemy 'contract alchemy.' I'm both the contractor…and the client. Imagine, heh, if two or more people were involved in a contract and bound by the array. The contractor will have to provide a form of service to the client, and the client will have to sacrifice something to get what they want. Equivalent Exchange!"
Theofil bared his teeth as he lowered his chin onto his umbrella. "With enough of a research budget…why, my alchemy could have the potential to turn back time, erase mistakes."
His piercing black eyes met the head alchemist's. "Resurrect dead people?" Of course he researched the backgrounds of his evaluators, he had more than enough money. And the head alchemist in particular…he'd had a beloved daughter who had been dead for years now. Theofil observed how his eyes sparkled with distant hope.
"Honestly, all I need is a good source of energy, a lot of studying to eradicate sources of error. Contract arrays are pretty shaky most of the time." He smirked. "Those two arrays I presented? It took months to perfect them. But, with the assistance of old theses and references, I think there is a good chance I'll succeed."
Later, he stepped back through the examination hall's double doors with a triumphant expression and a bounce in his step. He'd lied, of course. Resurrecting dead people? Bah. Impossible.
The head alchemist had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
Theofil Vertrag passed.
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The Fuhrer had dubbed him the 'Deal Alchemist' and added a silver pocket watch to the mix.
Theofil really could've used a flashier name…but it'd do. He'd make his given title great one day. In the future. Like next year.
His assigned superior, General Hakuro, told him to do well in his field.
"Mr. VERTIGO, your results are only passable to my eyes," Theofil mimicked as he dramatized an earlier conversation while alone in his lavish room. "Seventy-five percent? Unbelievable!"
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1908
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The Ishvalan Massacre.
The idea in of itself sobered Theofil most of the time. But now that it was already happening, he found he couldn't bring himself to care much. The genocide command of the Fuhrer had been looming above them anyways. The Ishvalans just missed the hint to escape.
Theofil has been desensitized to murder by then, though he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the religious race. What he felt would've ballooned into sympathy, if he weren't so busy feeling rage at Mustang.
While he was at his lab slaving away trying to make ends meet and produce headway into his research, the bastard was sent to the front lines by issuance of Order 3066. Of course with his Flame Alchemy, Mustang was immediately a STAR.
Theofil did try to apply to be part of the civil war, just to show up Mustang. However, his arrays were difficult to control on the battlefield at best, putting even his allies in danger if he were to be deployed. The higher-ups said he was better off in a lab anyway. It was probably for the best. He had no stomach for killing. If he were to derive any pleasure from this event, it would be that the title 'Ishval War Hero' bequeathed upon that bastard was absolutely psychological torture.
That night, an Ishvalan couple had ringed the doorbell of his mansion, asking for help. Begging for a deal.
"How do you know about me?" Theofil questioned them. Of course, he had to know where the good publicity had come from first.
"We talked to a man. He said he was your informant," the Ishvalan man replied in a desperate tone. "He promised up and down that you'd help us. Said he'll pay you a lot of good info about a…male horse and its family?"
Theofil let them in.
"What do you want?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. "A way out of the country? I'm rich, but the Fuhrer and his lackeys are hard to bribe."
"We…" The Ishvalan man hesitated, turning to his wife.
"We want you to change the color of our eyes," the woman said evenly, not even glancing at her husband.
Theofil froze as he poured himself a cup of tea. The chemistry of eye color. Easy enough. All he had to do was adjust the melanin production, since it's just a protein pigmenting the irises. It can be decreased or increased, whatever. They want blue or black? No problem. There were just two issues he had to deal with this.
"You're willing to throw your heritage away?" The Deal Alchemist added a lot of milk into his tea.
The wife bit her lip. She wrestled her thumbs with each other. "Just for a few days? Is that possible?"
Theofil mused about the equation in his head. "Actually…it is." Okay, so at least this couple wouldn't be forgetting where they came from. That's good. Now the last issue…
"Unfortunately, I'll have to ask something in exchange from you," he told them.
The Ishvalan man's red eyes widened, horrified. "S-s-sir, we don't have money. Your informant said—"
"I don't need money," Theofil cut him off. "I need energy. I need materials. Where would I get what I need?"
"W-what do you need?" The wife's voice shook. The Deal Alchemist perceived how the woman's hand strayed ever so slightly above her womb. Of course, she spotted where he was looking, and she gaped at him in fear.
"No!" she exclaimed, clutching her belly. "I'll give you anything! Just don't—!"
"Oh calm your butterflies, woman!" Theofil snapped, irritated with the loud noise. "It's just a hand!"
The couple's expressions became confused. "Huh?" they said at the same time.
"I'll be needing a hand from one of you, I'm sorry," he apologized. "The melanin needed to darken your eyes' coloration will be sufficient, taken from there. And the blood from there will be enough energy to power my alchemic array." Hopefully…yep, cross fingers. "What'd yah say? Got yourselves a deal?"
There. No need to break it to them gently. The woman's screeching proved she was willing to do this anyway.
The Ishvalan man requested he to take his hand instead. Sure why not? Same organic matter.
After dressing the man's left stump, he directed them out of his house as they stared at him in thanks with their now-brown eyes.
"Those have a four-day limit," Theofil warned them. "Get out while you still can." Then he shut his door without saying goodbye. He grabbed his phone and cranked the dial until he finished his informant's number.
"Hello, Geron" he greeted, delighted. "Thanks for the package you sent me."
"No problem," said a gruff voice. "S'long yah got money to pay for it. How did it go?"
Theofil chuckled. "Ah, you know. Frightened them into thinking I'll be using their child as a base—thanks for that tiny tip. Ahaha…after that, the man didn't have any qualms about my using one of his limbs for my little time-limited experiment."
"Yah're sick."
"I'll be sending the check over soon. Watch over them, okay?" He hung up the phone. He's sick alright, but at least he got the family a safe passage out of the country.
He found out the next day about the male horse and its family history. He also found out that Mustang had been promoted to lieutenant colonel.
Ugh. Theofil really hated being put on the same level as average alchemists.
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1910
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The Deal Alchemist had already been a candidate for drop-out twice.
That had to be a new record for the military.
And that wasn't the only bad news.
He was having a dandy day, strolling to East HQ for his evaluation, certain that he'd get recognition this time, when he accidentally peeked into the generals' meeting room on the fifth floor. The evaluation center was on the first floor, but he…got lost.
"…special permission for this potential recruit to take the exam." Theofil heard Mustang's voice regaling the few higher-ups of Eastern Headquarters with a tall tale. "I came upon a sample array of his that was far too advanced for his age. Or anyone older than him, even." Huh. The Deal Alchemist certainly has never caught Flame so excited before.
"What's more…he's certainly capable of plenty of research. It's just an observation, sirs, but to my eyes, he could most certainly work."
Most of the generals nodded. Theofil's blood boiled.
"Why do you need special permission?" a brigadier general asked, clearly sensing something off.
"Oh," Mustang smiled. "The potential recruit is just eleven years old."
"ELEVEN?!" the brigadier general exclaimed as Theofil gapped and the others started buzzing. "He's just a kid?"
"A child prodigy," Mustang corrected, a serious demeanor taking over him. The clamor in the room quieted. "One we should get a hold of before other organizations hear of him. Yes?"
This time, a lieutenant general, the highest ranked in the room, addressed the black-haired man. He had an open file before him, presumably the prodigy's profile. "Lieutenant Colonel," he said tonelessly. "Are you sure about this?"
"Positive."
"You'll have to be one rank higher to be in charge of a State Alchemist." The lieutenant general closed his eyes, deep in thought. "Very well." He stood up and shook Mustang's hand. "I'll be passing your name to the Fuhrer for promotion. Consider yourself a colonel."
Theofil thought about the probability of finding a child prodigy on the streets as he sulked his way back home.
To put the cherry on the sundae, Hakuro sent him a letter a few days later ("Couldn't even visit me in person," Theofil fumed), saying that he had transferred him to be under the command of the new shiny colonel.
Life. Hated. Him.
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1911
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"Mr. Theofil Vertrag," Mustang greeted when Theofil opened the door. He pronounced the name right. Small mercies. "Huh, you look kind of familiar…"
"We attended the same military academy, Mustang," Theofil said with a neutral face, as he bit back a condescending reply. The hell was Mustang doing there anyway?! "Then I became classified as a civilian State Alchemist."
"Ah," Mustang said, obviously keeping his face blank as well. The copycat. "I apologize for not knowing."
Theofil knew he wasn't sorry. He could practically feel the bout of electricity sparking between their eyes. At least he felt it. He wasn't sure about Mustang. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey Colonel!"
A young boy wearing a red coat came running up to Theofil's doorstep.
Kid said, "Fuck you."
Kid said, "You left me napping in the car!"
Kid said, "Thought you ditched me."
It was far too early to deal with this.
"Mr. Vertrag." Mustang's deadpan stare never left him as the man absently swayed his right arm to the side. "Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist." Said arm hit the boy square in the face.
"Hey! Ow!" The boy—Edward Elric— shoved Mustang in turn.
Was it just him…or were Mustang's eyebags considerably darker? Kid must be giving him hell. Hooray.
"Pleasure to meet you, Fullmetal Alchemist." Theofil held out a hand for Edward to take, which the kid did. He felt the grip of the gloved automail, thereby verifying the claim of his informant. "Alchemy prodigy. Youngest State Alchemist in history. Etcetera."
"Call me Ed." Ed grinned as he smugly looked up at Mustang. "See? Not even a full year, and I'm famous."
Mustang sighed as if the world had cursed him. "Mr. Vertrag, Fullmetal here is interested in your work on contract alchemy."
"What of?" Humor them first. Then deny them entry later.
"The occurrence of Equivalent Exchange on a separate dimension," Ed told him, eyes shining. Alchemy nerd persona taking over.
"And if I say no?" Theofil snapped, drawing back his hand from Ed's. The two just stared like they couldn't believe their combined charm couldn't persuade him. "Got stuff to do, Edward. I need to pass my evaluation this time. Otherwise, I'm going to lose my job. Isn't that right, Colonel?"
Theofil would have been proud to say that he'd been able to spit the title like it was composed of phlegm.
Mustang seemed to take the hint. His jaw clenched, but he otherwise kept his demeanor composed. "Of course, we're sorry to bother you." He turned to Ed. "Well, Fullmetal, looks like I'll have to repay my debt to you sometime this week. Let's go."
"What?! NO! I—"
Poor kid alchemist. Can't even follow orders.
Ed spun and faced Theofil. "Look…sir. I could help—"
"Can't help me, kid." He frowned. "I've been tinkering around with this for years. Prodigy or not, what does a punk like you know about contract arrays?"
"Fullmetal," Mustang called from the military car.
"I don' know shit 'bout those!" Edward stomped his foot as his distinctively countryside accent shone through. "But hey! Not my fault if you don' want to learn 'bout…" The kid hesitated.
Theofil raised an eyebrow. "About?"
Ed shifted his weight from foot to foot, glanced once at Mustang, then turned back to him and whispered, "Have you ever wondered that there might be someone present in that separate dimension you mentioned in your alchemy profile description?" He wriggled his arms at Theofil like an octopus. "Someone to make sure that the principle of Equivalent Exchange wouldn't be violated?"
Theofil blinked at that. "Someone?"
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Theofil blamed his curiosity.
Now they were all gathered around the table, drinking coffee in dainty cups and munching on chocolate chip cookies of all things. Ed had a heaping plateful and had somehow flamboyantly finished all of it in two minutes. Mustang had winced.
Edward Elric was rude and obnoxiously certain about his self-importance. Trouble. Mustang probably thought the child prodigy was going to be the perfect subordinate.
"I…understand," Theofil spoke up, after having heard the boy's theory. Ed had told him about it as equivalent exchange for the Deal Alchemist sharing his work. "Human transmutation, huh? And there's a gate involved. Parts of a body in exchange for information. Sounds painful."
"It is," Ed agreed, as if he had experienced it firsthand.
"How did you know all this?"
"Because I did it." Ed pinned him down with those gold eyes of his. "I committed the taboo."
Theofil slumped back in his seat. That explained why the kid was a freaking genius. He itched to hear the whole story, about whom Ed wanted to bring back, but he realized that it might be too much of a touchy subject. Ed was still focused on him, gauging his reaction.
He changed the topic.
"Why do you want to learn more about this...gate?"
"It's intriguing."
True. It was intriguing.
"Mr. Vertrag," Mustang said. Theofil wanted to ignore him. "We would appreciate it if you would keep Fullmetal's past actions a secret."
Theofil cocked his head. "Of course." Can't tarnish your reputation right, Mustang? Got a subordinate with a dirty history.
He pushed his chair backwards and stood, beckoning Ed. "Well, time to show you my theories. I haven't been making much headway though. Don't get your hopes up, kid."
"I'm not a kid!" Ed pouted.
"Sure, sure." He walked along the hallway with Ed. Mustang in tow.
"You have a big living space," Mustang remarked. "Where's your family?"
Killed by someone. "Dead. I live alone."
"No servants?"
Theofil bristled as he realized that this was some kind of interrogation. "Fired. I'd rather save money."
"You mean…you clean all these rooms? By yourself?"
Is it that obvious that there isn't a speck of dust on any furniture? Gosh, his neat freak-ness was showing.
"Yes," Theofil told him as they reached the end of the corridor. "With alchemy."
There was an unspoken duh.
He turned the brass knob and pulled it open. The door opened with creak and revealed a capacious laboratory, easily able to house a small orphanage. There was another door to their left, which led to the library, but instead of taking that, Theofil made a beeline to his array table to check his experiments. He grabbed a notebook thick enough to cause blunt trauma if he swung it, and passed it over to the awed Fullmetal.
Ed held the notebook parallel to the ground, staring at it with something akin to reverence, but then his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion when he opened to the first page.
"Uh," he said. "Of Mouse and Man? A novel written by Theo the Fifth?" He flipped to the back. "Where's the research?"
"Have fun decoding my work, kid," Theofil smirked, leaning on the edge of his desk.
Ed ran his gloved index finger on the binder. "Hmm." Then he surveyed his surroundings.
"You have a nice lab," Ed said with approval as he flipped random pages absently. "I wish I had a lab."
"Request a public one from him then." Theofil jerked his chin to Mustang as he examined his work.
"Can't…"
Theofil waited for the continuation of Ed's sentence. He tapped three times impatiently, and finally looked at the kid to see what was taking him so long to—oh.
Kid was busy. His golden eyes darted from line to line. Theofil noted, with a little bit of shock, that Ed must've been at least on page fifty. And he swore that his handwriting was tiny.
"How long have we been standing here?" he inquired of Mustang in a 'Is this kid for real?' voice.
"Five minutes," was the response.
Ten pages a minute. Impossible. And had he already cracked the code?! Theofil hoped Ed was only enamored by the story.
"He's amazing, isn't he?" Mustang chuckled. "Fullmetal can't hear us anymore."
"By the way, doesn't he have a bodyguard?" It caught up to him what has been niggling at the back of his mind. The armor that almost always overshadowed the kid was nowhere to be seen.
"The armor? That's his younger brother, Al."
Mustang was toying with him. Unless the brother inside the armor had gigantism, there was absolutely no way he was the younger. But okay, whatever floated with the wind.
The colonel scratched the back of his head, frowning. "He's back at their dorm right now. They just got back from the first mission I assigned them. Fullmetal demanded and I quote, 'to check out some knowledge worth checking out' and pulled out all my folders until he saw yours."
"Demanded?"
"Yes."
"He's that insubordinate, isn't he?"
"Yes."
With each affirmation, Mustang's shoulders sagged a centimeter.
Still, with Mustang being generous, accompanying the kid and everything…huh…it probably meant the first mission was successful.
Theofil glanced at Ed who had probably inhaled half the notebook. "May I ask what the mission was about?"
"Nothing much. He just had to take down a gang dealing with illegal possession of weapons."
Mustang had kept a straight face while saying that in a conversational tone. Nevertheless, it didn't stop Theofil from hearing that hint of pride tinting the man's voice.
He swallowed. "That's inhuman." He turned back to the Fullmetal Alchemist.
Said alchemist wasn't at his side. He could almost see a dashed outline blinking on and off where Ed has been. Panicked, he pivoted around, searching…
Ed was right behind him, changing an array containing a dead white rat. Changing his array. AND PLACING A LIVING BROWN RAT ON IT.
"Hey! What are you doing with Brownie?!" he yelled as he made grabbing motions. Nobody…nobody should touch his Brownie. And arrays.
Fullmetal flinched and touched the edge of the table, activating the circle. The kid looked at him guiltily. "S-sorry, I got carried aw—"
Incessant squeaking interrupted them. Annoying, annoying squeaking. As one, the three gazed at the results: Brownie was dead. White rat alive.
"What just happened?" Mustang took a step forward. "I thought dead stuff couldn't be resurrected."
"Uh…they can't." Ed's eyebrows were furrowed, as if he didn't expect this to happen. "I, uh, see…animals have no souls—"
"Of course, they do." Theofil glowered.
"No they don't," Ed countered back. "They have spirits, which is on a whole different level than souls."
"You cracked my code?" he squeaked, disbelieving.
"I understood parts of it," Ed replied. "Enough to grasp the important bits. Most of the text were obvious allusions to alchemical jargon. Etcetera. Shall I continue my explanation?"
"Go on," Theofil urged.
"I…exchanged the rats' brain waves and lives. Uh, not exactly lives because obviously the other one is dead. It's simpler to swap. You know? Brownie is in the white rat, I think. But…yeah."
But yeah, the kid had explained eloquently. Like Ed hadn't just made a ten-minute breakthrough that would've taken the Deal Alchemist years. Was it that easy to study his branch of alchemy? Theofil felt ashamed.
"Oh! And I also changed the sigil for soul into the one for spirit. And wrote my signature." Ed smiled and added, "I think the swap could be reversed."
Theofil hoped he wasn't drooling when he told Ed to do it. And Ed did. And they got Brownie back.
"That's…" Mustang trailed off.
Ed grinned. "Awesome?"
"Unbelievably inconsiderate of other's privacy and labor, Fullmetal." Mustang rolled his eyes and turned about face. "I'll be sending someone for you in the evening. Be careful."
"Sure," Ed said, "Colonel Bastard."
"Mr. Vertrag, thank you for your help." Then Mustang returned the way they'd come. Theofil heard the distant closing of his front door, and then he spun and regarded the child prodigy with wide eyes and a gasp stuck in his throat. Ed shifted his eyes away, embarrassed.
"Sorry for touching your work like that," he apologized. "First time I've seen a State Alchemist busy in a lab."
"It's quite alright," he heard himself saying. Not even an hour in his house and he had already created a soft spot for his little guest. He could see why Mustang appeared fond of this one. He probably earned a lot of praise from his superiors, despite getting hell from his subordinate's attitude. "Would you like to see my library?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Don't touch my encrypted work in the glass cases. And put the books back in the correct places after reading them."
"No problem. Thanks!"
After leaving the Fullmetal Alchemist to his own devices, Theofil surveyed the improved array. He reached out a hand and grabbed Brownie who nuzzled happily in his palm. Sighing, he grabbed his logbook and wrote his observations. So far, the brown rat hadn't been showing signs of instability. It didn't begin attacking him. Didn't run around the place looking violated. Didn't appear to lose anything during the swap. No extra fingers. No extra mouth. Tail still attached. Didn't begin roaring. Signs of a successful experiment.
Now Theofil only needed two more developments to be allowed to retain his certification. Thing was…he had a time limit of two days before his head is lopped off on the chopping block.
He pursed his lips, staring at the door to his library.
He wondered what Mustang's research was. Colonel or not, even that man was required to pass a report of his own annually, though Theofil suspected that he had acquired a practical free pass for merely being able to function as a one-man army. Or…
Did Mustang have another agenda for recruiting Fullmetal? Sure, the action earned him an extra star and stripe on his shoulders but he couldn't keep using the kid as a boost to promotion, right? That'd get old pretty quick.
A realization dawned on him.
What if Mustang was utilizing Edward's skill to move his own study of Flame Alchemy forward?! For all Theofil knew, Ed had probably uncovered Apocalypse Alchemy, or worse, Volcano Alchemy. And it was only a matter of time before Mustang became Fuhrer and volcanoes Theofil's useless butt off the face of the earth!
He slapped himself. Hard. He's losing it clearly…
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"Ed?"
He'd thought about this long and hard. For like two hours. Sitting on his plastic chair reflecting on the pros and cons. The pros far outweighed the cons. He must get Ed to transfer under him as a lab assistant. Or better…as a partner.
As he entered the library, he found Ed cushioned between two walls of stacked books, with his red coat spread out above him and serving as a makeshift roof. Apparently, Ed liked forts, and he suspected that forts composed mainly of tomes and manuscripts are the best ones. It seemed comfortable. Heh, Ed had assembled a com-fort.
But yeah, Theofil was very desperate. He couldn't lose what he invested so much time and energy on. It would be an insult to his father, siblings, and friend's memories if he got kicked out now.
He sat in front of the boy, careful not to crowd him. "Edward," he called rather loudly. Ed raised his nose away from the text and blinked twice as he adjusted his focus.
"Mr. Vertrag." Ed glanced at the page number and set the book aside. "What is it?"
Okay. Moment of truth here. This is Ed. A child prodigy. Child prodigies may be well-acquainted with their chosen field of study, but most of them are inexperienced with the crooked ways of the world. He'll be easy to manipulate.
"I was wondering…" Pause for dramatic effect. "…If you would like to work with me on my Contract Alchemy."
"Oh."
Whatever Theofil expected as a reaction, this wasn't it. He anticipated an instant yes. Or a hesitant no at least. This was the first time the conversation wasn't going the way he wanted to.
"Oh?" Theofil echoed as he made the mistake of meeting Ed's gaze.
The golden eyes were filled with the intelligence of equations, of concepts, and of morals. They had this look that screamed 'Don't fuck with me. I know a lotsa shit you don't know.' With a sinking feeling, the red haired man saw that they were also brimming with mild disappointment. They studied him intently, from his shiftiness to his posture to his (hopefully) blank expression.
This was the true prodigy. He wasn't a child. Only a kid in body. There was something in that gaze that froze Theofil's veins. It gave him the compulsion to run and never ask that question again.
"No," Ed finally answered with a twist of his mouth. "Did you ask me so I could do your work for you?"
Crap. He was caught. He was caught and he didn't like where this was going. He didn't expect Ed to cut straight to the point like a well-honed knife. He was certain he wore the look of a deer caught in the headlights.
"I—"
"It's fine." Ed seized the book—Alchemia Energia, first edition, very rare—he was reading. Theofil blinked as Ed continued. "You aren't the first official or person who's asked me. Shit. I won't hold no grudge for you attempting to take me for your own personal gain like I'm a tool. You didhelp me. But…wow, is everyone in the military a user?"
He sounded so bitter. Theofil winced.
"And Mustang isn't using you?" he challenged.
Ed blew his bangs out of his face. "Of course he's using me. I'm also using him, which, when you think about it…makes me sound like a fuckin' hypocrite. Whatever."
"I was asking you to become my partner."
"Right, you were already caught okay?" Ed sighed. "No need to push it. I don't want to be your partner or subordinate or P.A. I have other stuff to do."
"Like reading mythology?" Theofil leaned back. Of course he knew what Alchemia Energia was about. The text was a detailed novel mainly about Philosopher's stones, sources of unbelievable amounts of energy. Analyzing them and the tales centered on them. Fables. Children's stories believed to be encoded recipes on how to make the rocks. Bollocks.
"There might be facts in mythology," Ed assured himself. "I just heard this for the first time, alright?"
"So you were going to be searching for the stone," Theofil surmised.
The boy flipped a page, not meeting his gaze. "What makes you say that?"
"Doesn't every alchemist, at some point in their lives, try to attain one?" Theofil had; it would make deals much easier. "Why? What do you want Ed? Immortality? Power?"
The tables had flipped. Now it was him making the kid sweat.
"No," Ed told him. "I just want to heal someone."
"Your younger brother's gigantism? Is that why he wears the armor?"
"I—what…no." Ed denied with palpable uncertainty, like he wasn't sure whether it would be beneficial for him to elaborate further. Then his face hardened. "Look, it's none of your damn business. Thank you for the access to your books but I already did you a favor, didn't I?"
Temper.
Theofil hated when people lost their temper.
Still the kid was right. Theofil walked away from the fort and exited to his lab. He tapped his pen in rhythm with the ticking clock, waiting. Once the escort (one Lieutenant Havoc) sent by Mustang arrived and Ed had departed with a small bow, he grabbed several sheets of paper to be passed for evaluation.
Time for forgery.
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"You didn't even cite Fullmetal," Mustang growled at him, clutching his research in one gloved hand. "Not even once! Or in passing!"
Just his luck to be caught by his superior. They did have the same evaluation day, but Theofil forgot to avoid Mustang after all those years of trailing him. The Colonel had brought Edward Elric (now fidgeting) along in order to show the kid how the evaluation procedure worked and bumped into him, scattering his papers, Mustang picking them up, scanning them, and shit. Shit. Shit. He'd messed up BIG TIME.
The colonel's cold eyes skimmed the words. "Aged up a rat and reverted it back to a baby?! And dated before Fullmetal visited when it's obvious you had no such results?!"
Mustang was more observant than he thought.
Theofil tried to deny the accusations. "I didn't—"
A flurry of papers bombarded his face. He flinched. A small crowd of officers was gathering around them.
"Colonel, it's fine," Ed tried to placate Mustang. "He needed my help—"
"It doesn't excuse him not crediting you," Mustang snapped. "Or forging products that don't exist for that matter. Taking advantage of my subordinate like that…I could have you arrested for cheating the system!"
"And you!" Mustang turned on his young protégé who scowled back in defiance. "Don't underestimate your intelligence. I thought you were arrogant about it. And now that it proven vital to Deal's work that you've decided to throw him a bone?"
He pointed at two first lieutenants watching them, then at Theofil. "Arrest him."
Theofil's heart sank as he realized he wouldn't be able to lie his way out of this one.
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The presiding judge slammed the gavel three times and declared him guilty.
It was a flurry of activity after that.
Something inside him just snapped.
All he'd ever studied.
All he'd ever worked for.
Wasted.
He twisted his wrists against and out of the handcuffs, leaving raw marks, as an animalistic sound grated against his throat. The guards tried to restrain him, but he slashed at them with a small knife he had transmuted in his cell and managed to keep hidden until that moment. He dodged the grabbing hands and sprinted at Mustang on the opposite bench.
HA! He wasn't even wearing his Flame Alchemy gloves. It would be so easy to sink the knife in the man's heart. Not even the blonde sniper woman could whip out a handgun in ti—
His weapon was deflected by a metal arm. Ed.
A bullet hit his foot. Hawkeye.
A scream filled the room as officers restrained him on the floor.
"DONE! I'M DONE FOR!" he cried, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Don't you dare enter my library, Fullmetal Alchemist."
Damn. How he wished. How he wished Ed worked for him.
And his Contract Alchemy. Damn, it could've bettered people's lives. Fruitless.
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At least his cell was clean.
Now that he had been left to rot in prison for the next three years, he contemplated his revenge against Mustang.
First his family, now him. He banged his head against the stone wall.
He realized a few days of boredom later, that Ed's attitude was all an performance act to make him appear as a hard-to-control subordinate. So no one else would be interested in taking him.
One month passed.
"Have you heard about the Hero of the People? The Fullmetal Alchemist?" the guards gossiped amongst themselves. Theofil strained his ears.
"Yep," another answered. "I hear he stopped a bunch of lunatics from blowing up a building."
"He accidentally blew up another building though."
"Abandoned?"
"Yep. That guy…his superior? Dunno his name but he was heard stressing 'bout it. Dunno why. He gets a lotta praises from them generals."
"Uh-huh."
The gossip aggravated him. He started cursing the guards in loud screeching noises whenever they would talk. Sometimes, he was able to land a headbutt or two when they tried to let him out for a little while. He considered these moments as chances to escape, though he never succeeded.
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After two years of terrorizing the prison guards, he was moved to a higher security facility. He had a companion too.
They didn't talk for a while. Until the long-haired man wearing stocks as handcuffs spoke.
"How's the world outside?" the man asked in a raspy voice. He had tattooed palms, which he splayed as he gestured his chin to a wall.
"How do you think?" Theofil questioned back as he pondered the man from behind his bangs. His dirty hair had grown of course, so that it looked more like splattered blood than anything.
The man grinned. "Chaotic. What's your name?"
Theofil pondered the question. He's been doing a lot of pondering lately. He decided the question was an innocent inquiry.
"Theofil Vertrag," he said.
"Oh? And I'm Solf J. Kimblee."
Crap. Theofil now understood why he was placed in the same cell as this man, the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. It was a ploy to get him to behave.
"Don't look so frightened," Kimblee admonished as he tilted his neck to the side. "It stirs my predatory instincts."
Yes. He was definitely frightened now.
With difficulty, Theofil smoothened his expression as best as he could.
Kimblee grinned. "That's better. Now…humor me. I've been here for quite a few years—"
"How many years?" Theofil interrupted before he could stop himself. He finally had someone to talk to, psycho (from what he heard this man had made of Ishval anyway) or not, so he'd gladly converse.
"Exactly five years, two months, three weeks, two days, five hours and fifteen—sixteen minutes," Kimblee replied. It sounded so precise and genuine that Theofil didn't dare ask how the man was able to count all the increments of time. "And you? What are you in prison for? You looked quite inexperienced compared to me. Killed anyone lately?" he added as if he had already explained the reasoning for his.
In a way, he had. What with Theofil's reaction.
So he told Kimblee as he eyed the arrays on the Crimson's palms.
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"Contract Alchemy. Interesting."
"It is," Theofil agreed. "If it would work the way I wanted it to. But, bummer, it wouldn't."
He had explained everything to Kimblee, who had kept quiet the whole time. The guy may have this untrustworthy air surrounding him, but the Deal Alchemist had needed to get his problems off his chest for a while now.
"How would you get it to work then?"
Theofil shrugged. "I don't know. My arrays were supposed to be able to do anything if there was a power source to derive from. Like a Philosopher's Stone." He laughed with humor. "Alas, a myth!"
Silence blanketed the cell once more. The sound of dripping water echoed from the corner.
"You think?" Kimblee smiled and started to move his mouth like he was chewing gum. A moment later, he parted his lips and something blood red rested between his canines and incisors.
Theofil's heart dropped to his stomach. His breathing stopped and hitched in his trachea. "Is that…?"
Kimblee grabbed the stone with his left hand. "I would demonstrate, but I don't think the Fuhrer would appreciate a giant hole in this facility."
"Could I…" He hesitated. "Borrow it? We could escape."
His companion didn't answer as he absently twirled the stone in between his fingers. He looked fond of it, but Theofil noticed that Kimblee was studying him intently.
"If I wanted to escape," Kimblee said, throwing the stone in the air and catching it. "I would've done so long ago. It'd be easy. Like demolishing a sandcastle."
"Then why show me that?"
"Tell me." Kimblee's smile was full of teeth. His tongue darted around like a snake's. "How confident are you that your Contract Alchemy is capable of helping people?"
"Very," he answered, trying not to get weirded out.
"Hah. And your beef with Mustang?"
"I want him to experience what I've been through." He clenched his fists, imagining the bastard's face squashed between them. "All of it."
"Hmm."
Silence again. Then…
"The Philosopher's stone was made of human lives."
At this, Theofil reeled back, staring at Kimblee in shock.
"I thought so," Kimblee told him, reading his face. "You don't have the stomach to use it. I don't have to waste this on you then."
Wait. Did Kimblee plan on actually giving it to him? Was willing to let Theofil play with it? But…it's made of lives…human lives. It was on a whole new level of evil and he wanted no part in it.
But he'd be able to improve his alchemy with it. And mess with Mustang too.
"You're letting me have it?" he asked.
Kimblee shrugged. "This was made of Ishvalan lives. It killed Ishvalans too."
Theofil was internally disgusted with the casual declaration. Yet…the irony of it. It appealed to him.
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
"I'd like to borrow it." And then, because they were alchemists and there had to be some form of Equivalent Exchange. "What do you want in return?"
The Crimson Alchemist leaned forward, eyes wild. "To know whether you, Deal Alchemist, would have succeeded in your ambitious goals had the Flame Alchemist never existed."
Another surprise. Theofil was coming to expect this from people he met.
"Pardon?"
"You said that your arrays could do anything," Kimblee elaborated. "So do yourself a favor. But, heh, I own the stone you'll be using, and all I want to see is some nice entertainment. A clash of wills. Who would win in the end?"
He gestured to all of Theofil. "An alchemist who has nothing left, who writes up contracts, desperate for his revenge and his power." He motioned his head to the side. "Or an alchemist who has everything, who snaps to create fire, desperate to change how the country runs. You'll let me see, yes?"
"Of course." Theofil nodded. "With the proper array."
"Excellent." Kimblee swallowed the stone. "Draw it here. And I have rules for you before I give you the power source."
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If you fail to succeed in a timeline where Mustang doesn't exist, you will fail to exist yourself, Theofil remembered Kimblee saying as he was led out of the cell a year later. Kimblee smirking at him. And if you do succeed…the timeline replaces the current one.
He wouldn't lose. He wouldn't let it happen. The guard unlocked his cuffs, and he rubbed them to gain back the feeling.
"Why can't I just kill him in this world?" he had asked.
"That would defeat the entire concept," was the answer. "You wanted to replace Mustang, swap lives. You can't allow people to be influenced by Flame."
"So I also can't kill him myself in the other potential timeline?"
"No. You'll have to defeat him genuinely. And I'll be the judge of that."
"Those are your only restrictions?"
"If you lose, I also get my stone back."
"…Fine. Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Nothing more, nothing less?"
Kimblee had grinned in response. "Yes."
That was the last either of them spoke of it. And now, with the Deal Alchemist released…
With a breath of fresh air, a stone composed of a thousand souls in hand, and a really good glimpse of the future (in exchange for some of his sanity, which was overrated after all), courtesy of one of his test run arrays. (Just in case the stone given wasn't the real deal.)
And he'd seen that Mustang's downfall would start with the death of his best friend.
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And it did.
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/
Every move counts in the game of chess, and it how long it lasts, depends on the skill of the two players.
All it takes to win…is one good move.
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/
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
#'Course there's a frick freaking Philosopher's stone involved that's like the most used plot twist in the world of FMA
#Feeling cheated for this ripoff
Science-ing the shit out of the alchemy was time-consuming, but ultimately necessary and worth-it. If there are any glaring pitfalls you have spotted, well, I tried. More constructed theories on contract alchemy to come, anyhow.
Fic Fact: This villain-centric chapter was originally going to be the first one posted, but Batsutousai (my badass beta; I needn't probably say this but check out her awesome, more polished work if you haven't already) suggested the change in order, which made perfect sense to me. Batsu...I can't thank you enough really. 3
This was supposed to be posted much earlier but FFNET won't let me post due to servers crashing. I apologize for the wait.
Leave a review :) Constructive criticisms, thoughts, rants, etcetera.
To the Guest reviewer who knows German, you're absolutely right :) Now try to guess how I named him 'Theofil'.
