Disclaimer: Don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. It is the property of Hiromu Arakawa and all related companies.

Chapter 3

Actually, Hawkeye Jane was faster than he thought. First, she fired on her left side. The slug swam through the air, punching the gunmen in the stomach, blood and guts exploding out. The force of the blast pushed him out of gravity's grip, and turned the Winchester up to a 45 degree angle.

After he was shot, the rifle went off. Up and up, the bullet went, until it hit the sniper's left ear and blew it right off. The prostitute in the room screamed. The ear responded by falling harmlessly in the crack of her massive breasts. A souvenir.

The .45 bullet wasn't finished. It ricocheted off a cast-iron stove that was behind the first guy, turned 82 degrees, and hit poor Frank in the head. He didn't need it.

That all took one second. Three down. Five more.

It took Hawkeye two seconds to waste the rest of the ammo. All found there marks in various bodily organs. That day, they all saw her kill eight men was six bullets. They'd be telling their children this legend for years to come. She just nonchalantly spun the Colt on her finger and sat it down.

"All you alright, miss?" she asked in an angelic manner, after all that killing.

Rose shifted her eyes to the left and let out a gasp.

"Behind you!"

Hawkeye twisted around to see two more men, their guns cocked and ready. She had let her guard down for a second too long. The sound of gunfire, though, was replaced by whizzzzzing, and then two thuds. They dropped to the ground, daggers sticking out of their backs. Ahead at twenty meters stood a man with glasses, with a shaggy beard, wearing a wide grin.

If Jane was good with guns, then this fellow was freakish with the knives. Folklore had deemed him Bill the Blade, but his real name was Maes Hughes. Being born in a traveling circus had his perks. It gave him the gift of explosive close-quarters combat. But the only thing he loved more than sharp and pointy things was his family, especially his daughter. He placed two photographs on the backs of the corpses.

"See my daughter?"

She was dressed as a Southern belle, with sweet little dimples. The slaves in the background were burning the plantation. They loved fire.

The entire town erupted into cheers, some shooting guns into the air, even though they didn't use them to defend Rose. Yeah. The sheriff was standing there the whole time. He walked back into his office and smoked some more opium.

"Three cheers for Hawkeye Jane!" said old man Johnson.

Maes cleared his throat.

"Oh, and Bill the Blade."

People always forgot him.

Hawkeye stamped her foot.

"My name is Riza Hawkeye!"

She hated that. It always made her feel like a label. She wasn't a label. She was a human being. The people backed away. They weren't going to get shot.

Hughes walked over and helped Rose up. Brushed her off real good, too.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, thanks to you two. If there's anything I can do to repay y'all's kindness?"

"Don't mention it, darling," Riza chimed in. "Anything to help a young mother and a cute, little baby."

"Thank you again so much. God bless you both."

Rose walked off, and just in time. Riza and Maes both started to vomit. That baby was the ugliest thing they'd had every seen. First of all, this baby's skin was covered with boils from top to bottom, some of them erupting with lavas of pus. It had seven misshapen fingers on each hand, with two inch nails on each. Its eyes shot out at a right angle, and both were jaundiced and blood-shot. It had gurgled something, sounded like "blagblag." I dunno. How can someone so beautiful produce an ugly bomb?

Their hork-fest was interrupted by clapping hands. It was lieutenant colonel Roy Mustang, sipping a beer on the porch of the saloon. Lazy S.O.B. I hate his bishonen ass (just kidding, he's good. Better than that Sesshomaru, with his stupid eye shadow). Next to him was major Alex Armstrong, picking his nose with his mustache. The military just got downgraded.

"That was a great performance you two put on," Roy said, getting up and throwing his beer on the ground.

"Thanks," said Riza, in an almost juvenile way.

Every time he came, she melted to child-like mannerisms. She always wanted to confess her feelings for him, and so did he. But they couldn't get the nerve to tell each other. Shot a whole platoon of bandits, but couldn't go out for ice cream. Maes didn't care. He was married.

"Yes," said Armstrong. "A showing of great courage and skill. I would've taken of those bandits myself with…"

Then he ripped off his top uniform to reveal his muscled form, glistening and shining in the sun. Yes, he flexed. Yes, the pink sparkles were there.

"… my tremendously beautiful body!"

"Freak!" one guy yelled.

"Put your clothes back on."

"Is he gay?"

One old hag dropped dead on the ground. One guy actually did wink at him.

Mustang backed away.

"So why didn't you?" asked Maes.

"I dunno. Didn't feel like it."

"Anyway," quipped Roy, "I have a new assignment for you two from the superiors. I'll show you at the fort."

He bounded onto his horse, as did the others. The other three sped away, but not Armstrong. He was so big, the horse was crawling on the ground.