There once was a pyramid amongst the vastness of the desert, and atop it was man. He sat so high that the glare of the sun would hinder the others sight, and especially those whose intention was to climb this pyramid as to take his place. And many failed.
So I came at night, and I struck my stone.
And he fell.
Colonel Roy Mustang sits with his elbows propped up, his intertwined fingers resting on his lips. The neat stack of papers that sits at the edge of his desk stare at this nonchalant man who shows no inkling of fear towards a deadline. The remindful clock on the wall ticks the seconds away, every tick closer to the impending noon. Unbeknownst to the unamused glances of his subordinates who drown in their own paperwork, Roy internally sighs. Work is the last thing he can afford to think of, what with that killer on the loose. And besides,
He is lazy.
The ringing of the phone sounds from besides him, interrupting his thoughts. He reaches out, clears his throat. "Hell-"
"Yo, Roy!" The lieutenant colonel's voice is cheerful as ever from the other end, which dims down to a more serious note. "I've got some news."
Roy's alertness kicks in, but knowing Hughes...
"Elicia…. drew something for me ."
...It could be anything.
The colonel's face twitches in vexation while the man at the other end does nothing but gush. He can almost envision him, swaying to and fro and drowning in his endearment on a private military line as he rambles about the bane of his existence.
"Hughes! Do you think this could wait? I'm working." It wasn't a complete lie even though it brought him dismayed glances from his subordinates.
"Oh, what a coincidence! I'm working too. On that fanatic of your kind," Hughes says, his voice going low. "There's been sightings of a man resembling Scar lurking in alleyways after yesterday's casualties. No doubt it's him."
Yesterday's casualties. The colonel recalls the coolness of the night, the slight breeze passing through as they stand - Lieutenant Hawkeye beside him among the group of uniformed men -before the two crumpled bodies. A neat sheet was draped over them, blinding the colonel of what horror lay underneath. Yet the pocket watch that lay uncovered beside the body devoid of life, a crimson stain on silver, was enough a glimpse. With the walls of the building painted in blood - a careless, chaotic splatter- it was without a doubt Scar's doing. The Silver Alchemist and the Stone Alchemist were dead.
"...so far with it and the Element Alchemist is in recovery. It's been the fourth in a week," Hughes sighs, and Roy only knits his brows.
The Element Alchemist…?
Oh. The one who can't speak.
"Roy?" The colonel's thoughts are interrupted. "You know why I'm telling you this."
"For all we know, anyone of us could be next," he states plainly, and there is a rather grim agreement on the other end of the line.
"You've got to have people watching your back, at a point like this." At a point like this. It is understood among them, the weight of the words and the meaning it burdens.
"That's why," Hughes grim voice utters but with a slight insinuation. "Get yourself a-
Roy slams the phone shut, ending their short lived conversation. He knows very well how that sentence ends, and his faces twitches in irritation again. It is definite that persistent Hughes will never leave him, and so he emits a frustrated sigh. His ungloved fingers intertwine once more to rest on his lips as he sits there in thought. He recalls the aridness of Ishval and him among a circle of comrades sitting against rubble of war. Hughes sat beside him, while Hawkeye was in his direct field of vision. They sat solemnly in silence after the damage they caused, Hawkeye absentmindedly staring at his gloved hand bearing a familiar mark, and so he removed them. They were many who felt the same as they did then, but simultaneously they were many who didn't. The Silver Alchemist was among the former, he remembers vividly, as they spoke briefly about the chaos.
'War takes everything from everyone. And it leaves so many undeserving with nothing but an ugly emptiness,' he said, slowly turning to the Colonel. 'If war takes, what does it give?'
It is partly The Silver Alchemist's words that still stick with Roy, but mainly it is the hollowness of the voice the words were said in that encompasses him in guilt. He briefly closes his eyes, knowing that he would be present for their burial tomorrow. And when he opens them, his sight lands on his trustworthy lieutenant, her eyes focused and sharp and he thinks that she surely does live up to her surname. But a what a secret her clothes hide, that only he was privileged enough to know. His eyes then glance at his hardworking subordinates.
Central can't handle Scar's case. If he were the one close it up, it would be his ladder to climb. And he will climb, however much he has to so as to sit atop this pyramid, and protect the ones under.
The tick of the clock is somehow louder now as he snaps from his thoughts, and now the time reads a little more than fifteen to noon. The papers sitting at the edge now glare at him and he grits his teeth, taking the first sheet and racing the clock all the while shouting at the unfairness of the load of work and time, earning him many exasperated looks. Yet they all knew beforehand.
The Colonel is lazy.
Author's Note:I'm sorry this chapter is small, or seems hurried. But I always wanted to write in Roy's perspective. I might add a few chapters later on, but for now I hope you guys enjoy this! :D