Being in the wars, made him think hard and remember. And long after the gruesome events of the Ishbal Massacre were over with, a part of Roy Mustang would still think, remembering the sights that burned themselves into his eyes, crackling in the flames. He could see a city exploding, turning the sky a bloody red. In the corner of his eye, he could see himself rising slowly but surely through the rankings of the military. And sometimes, if his mind chose to be at its most random, he could see a small house, where a young boy lay without an arm, a suit of armor stood warily, an old woman appeared put off, and a young girl's face reminded him of a bloodstained frame he only saw once.

Once, he had seen himself in a mirror before leaving for work, seeing the crisp uniform he was garbed in, along with the stars adorning his shoulder. His eyes belayed the authority that most people saw at first glance. Even the way he stood had shown that he was a man that one wouldn't mess around with. Much later, after work had ended, he could remove his uniform, replacing stiff blue with something more casual. He looked in the mirror again. He couldn't see a difference.

He looked at the alchemic gloves that would cover his hands most of the time, and briefly remembered the ring that had sit on one of his fingers, bearing the crimson jewel that turned his flames to infernos, taking whatever life stood in its way. The gloves were slowly slipped off his hands, while dark eyes inspected the intricate red array against white. Even in the gloves were put aside, he could still feel the fire he wielded.

And that one night during the Ishbal War, his younger self had quickly put his gun away and out of sight when the day was over. But even if he had burned the firearm to a crisp with his own alchemy, decomposing it into another object, or just hid it far away from his person, it wouldn't erase the fact that he had killed two doctors just some hours ago.

But for now, he just put the memory aside, and even that wouldn't change anything.