Colonel Roy Mustang hated guns.
He hated the feeling of cold steel against his hands, stealing heat as if it were a demon sucking away his soul. He hated the dead weight that would occasionally bump against his rib cage when he walked, far too close to his heart, even with the leather holster in between. He hated the fact that no matter how much he despised the machines, he wasn't stupid enough to go without one.
And most of all, he hated the memories.
Empty eyes clouded with fear. Earth and dust stained by rivers of red. Faces twisted in horror, burned into his memory so that he could still smell the smoky metallic scent that threatened to choke him in his sleep.
Humans were easy to kill, but ghosts…
It was why he preferred his brand of alchemy, because fire consumed everything. It charred away flesh and features until all that was left was the same piles of ash and bones. No names, no faces.
No memories.
It was for that one relief that he wished to become stronger. Because he knew that his 1st Lieutenant favored her guns.
And if anything, that made him hate them even more.
Although he knew the same guns were what had saved him several times in the past, mostly on rainy days, he also knew what one too many kills could do to a man, or in this case, woman. He had seen soldiers break down in the midst of battle, minds torn apart by the sharp crack of bullets as they hit flesh, dreams haunted by the mutilated faces of the dead, ears filled with the tortured screams of the dying. And while his Lieutenant had seemed to survive the horrors of that war, he did not wish to see the day that her vigilant loyalty to him became her downfall.
Even guns and fire would not save her then.
And he hated that most of all.
Author's Note: Definately shorter than Riza's part, and definately made a lot less sense, at least I think so. But it had to be done. And now there's one less rabid plot bunny in my head before college. Yaay.
Oh gods, college.
--- Inaho