Summary: This story takes place during the raid in Ishbal to help start the to-come Ishbalan War. The story will be split into three parts, Martel's, Dorochet's, and Roa's side of the story. Contains spoilers.
Rated: T
Well here's my first Fan Fiction I posted on this site! R&R and don't hold back your punches! After all, an author can only get better through honest critique! But honestly, I just hope you can enjoy this story!
Report 1: Confidentially Classified"All right, you have your orders ---- best of luck to you." The Fuhrer, a man with a balding head, thick mustache, and a patch over his left eye, gave his top covert op team their commands.
The Military's apex team consisted of three, which is actually atypical as teams are notionally made of two. Nonetheless, these three were the best at what they did and worked best together. Roa, to the left of their arrangement, was an immense man with pallid hair and the severest look upon his face; he was what could be considered the "muscle" of the team. The man standing next to him seemed to be misplaced in the shadow the previous chap cast over him. The diminutive man, compared, had a smoothly combed mop of light-brown hair and his eyes seemed to hide a great intellect behind them. As the logical man, Dorochet helped fabricate tactical strategy within the group when his Japanese-style sword was not slicing an enemy. Finally, the last member of their party was, surprisingly, a woman. With her cropped short blonde hair, with the exception of a single strand of hair arcing over her face, Martel's hazel gazed stared fixedly forward. Martel was, perhaps, slightly smaller than her partner, Dorochet, but she held an extreme aura of independence and determination about her. With her thin sinewy muscle and slight build, Martel was the perfect character to be the initial clandestine figure to do the preliminary break-ins the silent way. With these three united, they fashioned a faultless team that could take down any adversary of any quantity.
Their precision was the rationale behind why they were hired for such an abnormal job. That night, they were to start a war. Just the three of them, they were to, more specifically, raid a province run by a populace referred to as the "Isbalans". The basis for the invasion was considered need-to-know, so not even a top-secret clearance could get the answers concerning the missions unless they were, to repeat, among the need-to-know. Since the team was merely a set of grunt doing a job, they were not classified to receive such information; such knowledge would cloud the thoughts of the agents which was preferred not to be had by both parties; the military and the team.
Section 1/A
Through the Snake's Eyes
Report 2: First Impressions
As Martel left the room she sighed a breath of relief. The Fuhrer was quite the intimidating presence. "Ahh… that's done with…"
Dorochet gave Martel a questionable glance. "What's done with?"
Roa glanced over Dorochet's head at her as well. Martel felt the slightest blush creep into her serious façade. "Oh! Just… well… the Fuhrer. I just feel a little… you know—"
"—intimidated?" Dorochet finished for her as she nodded her head in agreement. "Don't worry, he is our 'boss' after all. A little fear is normal."
"A fear of anything is normal. If a person truly has no fear you must be wary around those." Roa added speculatively.
Martel nodded again, as though in defeat. She glanced up at them. "I want to prepare for tonight. I'll see you at twenty-two-hundred." Martel turned about and headed down the hall, opposite to the way of Dorochet and Roa.
Martel fidgeted as she ambled down the long, pale hallway. She had always felt slightly out of character when she walked in the customary military uniform. Wearing the navy-blue, starch-ridden, bulky clothing had always felt to Martel as though it did not belong on her body, she felt much more comfortable in her clothing choice. Typically, Martel wore a tight, black, sleeveless shirt and a pair of combat navy-blue pants tucked into her boots; her signature dagger tucked into a custom holster wrapped over her shoulders and back. Another aspect of her uniform was that she didn't have true rank. Sure, the bars and stripes claim she was a Sergeant of sorts but she never felt like the rank, she felt like she was a separate entity because of the rarity of her in uniform and actually being referred to as a Sergeant.
The blonde slowly marched down the hall with her head turned down, deep in thought of the night to come. As to be expected, she bumped into someone causing him or her to lose their balance and fall to the ground, dropping some papers they had been to busy poring over to pay any attention to where he or she was walking. Shit! – was the first thought to enter Martel's brain as she immediately stooped down to help pick up a couple of the papers.
"I'm really sorry about that… sir." Martel added the 'sir' quickly after noticing the stranger's visage. She also observed his rank as well, Dammit! I ran into a Major! How dumb can I be?
After standing, Martel offered her free hand to the young man to help him up as her other held tightly to the previously spilled documents. The man accepted her hand to stand and accepted her apology. "It's perfectly okay." The man spoke in a deep voice. "I wasn't paying attention either."
As soon as the Major acquired all his papers back from her, Martel stood at attention. "I am still at fault, sir. I had no excuse to knock into you, sir."
The Major observed her for a second. "At ease, Sergeant." He had a grin toy at the corners of his mouth.
The Sergeant sighed a breath of the reprieved; standing at attention always stressed her back and caused a deep feeling of panic in her chest for some reason. Martel gazed freely at the Major now. He's not completely bad. Martel took in his appearances as he flipped through his papers briefly to be sure of their order. Quite a bit taller than her, he had a rounded face and short cropped black hair. His navy eyes darted back and forth as he stared at his documents and the slightest wave of calm seemed to slowly fill his face as he saw that none of his documents were absent from his minute stack. Martel scanned down to his pocket and noticed a silver chain trailing from its clip on a belt loop into the cavern of the pocket.
"Ah, sir? Do you happen to be a – State Alchemist?"
The man looked up a little astonished. "Is it that apparent?"
Martel shook her head. "No, it's just that – well." She pointed to the silvery chain.
He looked down and laughed, a deep throaty laugh it was as well, Martel noted. "Yes. Well, you do have good eyes." He pulled the pocket watch out. On the cover of the silvered plating was the military emblem and when opened there was a working clock. The real importance was that the watch had enhancers for Alchemist to help speed up alchemic transmutations and enhance them. Being such value of help to an alchemist was perhaps the reason why only state certified alchemists could receive them. "I'm Roy Mustang. And you are --?"
Martel didn't answer at first for a sudden lump formed in her throat as she gasped. The Roy Mustang! Mustang was the youngest alchemist ever to receive state qualifications at somewhere around fifteen to sixteen years old! "Er, ah, I – I'm Martel" she finally gasped.
Major Mustang nodded and stuck his hand forward to shake. "Nice to meet you." After shaking hands he smiled. "There, that was a better meeting. After all, there's more to a person than just first impressions."
Report 3: Foolish Mistakes
After completely appearing foolish in front of Mustang, Martel parted ways with the Major in partial embarrassment after tripping on her own feet to leave and listening to the Major laugh out loud at her. She had merely blushed and whispered something about "meatloaf children" (at least, that's what it sounded like, not even Martel knew what she had said), Martel felt that she had surely embarrassed herself sufficiently enough in front of the Major for him to think she was nothing more than a fool. Still blushing, Martel decided to pay a little more attention to the people in the hallways besides her.
Finally, she reached the doors leading outside without incident and she breathed her millionth sigh of relief for the day. Out of her eager to leave the building, she slammed the doors open, and much to her discontentment, she heard a loud "oof" and "dammit", she winced; this was going to be bad. Martel gingerly opened the door and saw a man sprawled on the ground, clutching his nose. She then saw his soft rank on his shoulders. Augh! No! Just what is my problem today! She had "injured" another Major. Martel grabbed at her hair and attempted to rip it out in desperation.
"Oh, I'm really sorry! Here, let me help you up." Martel extended her hand but the man merely pushed her hand away as he stood, waveringly, still clutching his nose. Ooh! I think that's a bad sign right there!
"Well, dammit. What the hell was that for?" The man slowly pulled his hand away from his nose and saw only a small amount of blood. Obviously considering it not horrible, he focused his attention on her.
"I – uh –" Martel quickly took in his appearance. This man was a not much taller than the last Major but he had a malicious look in his yellow-gold eyes. Hazel, they have to be hazel. Martel assured herself; the thought of yellow irises creeped her out. She saw that he had surprisingly long hair for a man in the military; stopping in mid-back and tied at the nape of his neck. Than again, she also noticed that his uniform was almost sloppily tossed on him, his jacket was nearly falling off his shoulders. The open jacket did reveal a thin yet sinewy body under a black under shirt, not much unlike Martel's muscle build. The covert operative, out of habit, also took in blue transmutation circles tattooed on his palms and a pocket watch dangling precariously from its chain.
Noticing Martel's silence, the man interrupted her intense study of him. "Hey, what's your name?"
Martel almost glared at him; she found it arduous to confide in him.
He grinned. For some reason, Martel hated his smile so much compared to Mustang's whose grin was open and did not conceal clandestine motives. Here, this man seemed to be hiding something. "It's okay, I won't report you or nothing. Just curious is all."
Martel glared a just a bit more intently at him. "It's Martel. What about you?"
"Me? I'm no one." When he saw she wasn't buying it he grinned that identical grin that made Martel shudder. "Well, I guess I'm Zolf. But everyone calls me Kimbly if they want to live though." He gave a malevolent laugh that held none of the happiness that Roy's held.
Martel gasped. She knew who this was. Kimbly was about as infamous as Mustang was famous. When he tested to become a State Alchemist, Kimbly had grabbed one of his examiners and turned him into a living bomb, throwing him into one of the other contestant's column of stone, created from alchemy. With an impressive detonation and a wave of horror, Kimbly was made a State Alchemist. Recent stories of Kimbly involve death threats and the splattered remains of random animals here and there. "Uhh, excuse me sir, I have to go now."
Actually quite clever, Kimbly knew she was conscious of who he was. "Awe! Come on. Are you just leaving because you heard big, bad stories about little ol' me?" With his grin, hiding none of his malice now, he snatched Martel's wrist and dragged her closer to him as she tried to walk past him. With her facing forward he draped his arm around her neck, settled his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. "Mm… You smell pretty good, you know that?"
Martel broke out into sweat. The second his hands touched her, she froze. Martel wasn't all too certain how his alchemy worked but she did know that his alchemic powers worked in his hands where his tattoos were. Her breath caught in her chest and she slid her eyes to a corner to try and glimpse Kimbly's face.
Kimbly grabbed both of Martel's hands and held them out. He turned them over and over, finally clasping them rigid. "I bet you're scared." His voice was oddly husky. He paused to see if there'd be any reaction to his comment. Not seeing much, he continued. "I bet you're aware of what my hands can do." For emphasis he gripped her hands enough to make her squeak in surprise and pain. Satisfied, he went on. "I can blow you into a million pieces." He whispered this last sentiment dangerously and pushed Martel away.
Martel spun around in a defensive stance once he let go. He, however, merely smirked. It had been quite a while since the last time he had so effectively terrified someone. The fear on her face made him excited as consecutive ripples of adrenaline and nostalgia kicked in. "Heh. Don't worry. I won't kill you – for now." He smiled and turned around to head through the doors inside base. He turned his face as he reached the doors. "See you later… Martel." He let out a maniacal laugh. He was going to seriously have to let off some steam but he won't be able to for a while. Now he was antsy, he was going to have to kill someone or something within the week or he might go even more insane than he was already. Kimbly was in the mood for any excuse.
Martel turned tail and left in the opposite direction to the dormitories. She wanted to cry on the inside but that emotion was overwhelmed by an intense hatred of Kimbly. It feels like a stupid mistake to tell him my name. Almost feels as if he might steal my soul – like a demon. What a foolish, foolish mistake. How could I let my guard down as well? What am I thinking? At this rate, I might get my comrades and I killed on our raid tonight!