Chapter Five- Ignition

And wrath has left its scar-that fire of Hell has left its frightful scar upon my soul

-William Cullen Bryant

Central, Winter 1914

03:30

A brisk, cold wind gusted and forced Roy to pull his overcoat tighter against his body, his teeth chattering slightly as he meandered the silent streets of a slumbering city. He'd spent the previous night- as he had most- walking the streets in an effort to quell his raging thoughts, to think clearly. Hughes' death had seemed to herald a seismic shift in the machinations of the powers that be; civil unrest had begun to siphon the contentious peace and stability of the political machine that controlled Central and outwardly to the countries bordering Amestris. Bloody skirmishes led to full-fledged conflicts that threatened to send the country into war and there was this prevailing sense abandonment as the shadows of deception had deepened within Command itself. Bradley was acting off of his own agenda and had sufficiently silenced Roy by scattering his pawns and procuring his queen. He'd been effectively neutered, his plans, his aspirations now impotent in the face of an uncertain future.

Even with all of the chaos, he found that his focus was exact.

It was vengeance under the guise of justice. Only the end result mattered to Roy.

He could concede that he'd been reckless, made irrational choices. Instead of heeding Maes' warning to remain vigilant against the enemy within, he allowed his emotions to direct his path. He'd focused most of his waking hours delving into the details of Maes' final night alive, seeking the truth, the meaning behind his death. He'd given up any semblance his office, choosing to hunt instead of keeping a watchful eye on the throne.

In the end, it cost him his advantage but it was of no consequence; before he could advance, he had to settle a score, to right a wrong by any means necessary. Of course, that line of thinking had brought down Bradley's wrath on his operation. Though a nuisance, Bradley's passive aggressive show of force and the homunculi's false sense of superiority had become a spot of good fortune for him. The prevailing thought was that if his wings had been clipped and his pawns scuttled, they'd think he'd learned a costly lesson, think that his splintered desires would remain stagnant in the face of true supremacy and thus was essentially controlled.

And he led them to believe that fallacy.

Truth was, they'd given him just enough space to maneuver, assembling a network of messengers and spies right under their noses and ferrying information in plain sight. Incidentally, Roy wasn't sure who or what made up Bradley's cabal in its entirety but he knew that a select few of the military elite favored the side of the prideful victor. This nest of deceit had become the seat of Amestrian might and further complicated an already complex situation. Unseen powers were navigating the country on a collision course with destruction. He'd made a vow on the blood soaked fields of Ishbal that he'd harness the power to protect, to serve his country with a clear heart and mind. Despite the situation at hand, Roy believed they'd stumble and he'd be right there to take them down.

All of that was of no consequence at the moment, however. Tonight, his concentration was honed on his current quarry, an informant who was knee deep in the business of secrets. Anxious for his chance to sink his teeth into a lead, he hurried, his lips forming a cold grimace. The thrill of the hunt incited the smoldering flame of retribution from deep within and he rubbed his fingers together in anticipation, almost as if caressing a delicate rose. The familiar feel of his ignition gloves further stoked his wrath; he expected his questions to be answered. If not, then the informant would pay a hefty price for his reluctance.

He clenched his teeth against the bracing wind as the questions crowded his thinking, provoking him even more. The case had been effectively squandered, leads dried up, witnesses dissolved into shadows. It was clear that someone wanted to slam the door shut on the death of Maes' Hughes and the elevated rank and the KIA designation didn't fulfill the inherent need for closure that Roy coveted. He wanted someone accountable and he wanted them square in his sights. A maniacal grin replaced the grimace as he pressed his thumb and middle finger together, already envisioning the burst of flames as they sought a target.

Rounding the corner, he stopped and pressed his body against the cold brick of the building, his eyes sweeping the desolate streets for any signs of life. He turned to look the way he came, making sure that he wasn't followed. As much as time was a factor, his contacts by way of his aunt added another layer of anonymity which would come in handy when he started his interrogation.

Roy waited a beat before moving again, his heart now thumping in his chest. He couldn't help but think of Maes as he made his way to the warehouse, the memories filling the void left in the wake of his simmering rage. Maes had always been the lookout, watching Roy's back when conflicts arose, sometimes even standing side by side with him, unwilling to back down from a fight. Something as clandestine as this impromptu interrogation would've fed Maes' inquisitive soul and brought out a mischievous side to the deceptively perceived straight guy. And afterwards, they'd seclude themselves away, discussing the caper or mission and ways to improve for their next jaunt. For all their plotting, strategizing, and scheming, it served as nothing more than a solid foundation that their friendship stood ...and two fingers of a decent whiskey.

Light on your feet, fast to beat, Mustang…

Roy froze as the wind gusted, carrying with it a ghostly echo of his best friend's laughter. His heart thumped violently against his chest, his throat dry as a multitude of memories flooded his mind. Even though months had passed, Roy still found it hard to contend with the phantoms of a friendship that at its essence would never die.

He swallowed hard as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to gather his wits. Exhaling slowly, he started across the street at a clipped pace, not stopping until he reached his destination. Plastering himself against the door, he rapped sharply against the thick wood, the sound cracking in the hollow silence.

There was no hesitation, the rusty hinges squeaked loudly in the stillness of the night, the aged wood creaking deeply as it slowly opened to reveal utter darkness. Roy smirked briefly as he stepped into the shadows, all at once feeling comforted by the emptiness that stretched before him. As the door closed behind him, he stared straight ahead, allowing his eyes time to acclimate to the dark. The air was stagnant with age and the repugnant odor of mold and mildew guaranteed that they would not be interrupted. The maniacal frenzy began again and Roy strove to temper his actions. Tonight was a game of inches and it wouldn't do for him to run into this operation half cocked. A slight shuffle off to his left drew his attention and he pulled his gloves tighter.

"Our man..."

"...Is waiting for you. Down the corridor, turn left, take stairs down three flights, then right, then another right. Rey's keepin' him company," the detached voice replied. Roy nodded and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, producing a tiny flame. The dull glow only reached so far into the warehouse but just enough for Roy to make his way to his destination. He didn't bother glancing back at his receiver already knowing that he'd silently melded into the shadows, his job done.

Roy advanced deeper into the warehouse, his footfalls unhurried though his body thrummed with untapped energy. It was the work of the moment to remain as docile as he was; each step, each breath was bringing him closer to his goal and be it peaceful or cruel, he would find satisfaction this night. Maes' spilled blood called for justice but his own blood bellowed for retribution. It was selfish, it was reckless.

But it was necessary.

Deep within the bowels of the warehouse, Roy finally came to an end. The corridor was long with several doors lining both sides, all but one sealed shut. It was from this sole room that a dim light beckoned Roy, it's faint beam timidly spilling out into the devouring darkness. There was a murmur of voices, one smooth, confident, the other unhurried, perhaps even bored.

"So, didja bring me here to stare at me or is there a point to this?" the cocky voice asked.

"Don't worry, you're going to get what you deserve. Try a little bit of patience."

Snuffing out the tiny flame, Roy inhaled deeply and bowed his head, reconciling within himself, his determination to find the answers that had eluded him for so long.

Slowly, he exhaled and then stepped toward the door, pushing it open enough so that he could slip through. In the center of the room, there was a man bound to a simple wooden chair facing the door, his eyes covered. Despite bounded and blind folded, the man seemed to revel in his predicament as if his silver tongue would free him. The audacity of his hubris was furthered by the soft snicker that erupted from the man's lips as he tilted his head slightly.

"Ah, we have another guest. Won't you come in, take a seat, sit a while?"

Roy glared at the man before shifting his attention to his right. Just within the glow of the lone lantern, Rey stood, his gaze fixed at their prey. Roy took in the appearance of his accomplice and couldn't help but smirk; if one were to plan and execute something as crucial as his late night interrogation, Rey was the least likely suspect. He was a man of little words, his stature and his aloof demeanor accentuated his every man personality, making it just that much easier to toe the demarcation of light and dark. What most didn't know, however, was that Rey was notorious for enacting the most depraved of punishments- if instigated.

"What's the story with this guy?" Roy whispered as he leaned closer. He kept his eyes on their man, disgusted by the growing smirk. "Think he has any information?"

Rey nodded, " Name's Elmore Thackery. He likes to believe that he's the head honcho of the underworld and claims to have ties within Central Command, which is why he's currently sporting that smug ass grin." Rey glanced at Roy before returning his gaze to the bound man, "Had a lot to say about the homunculi and the Elrics."

"Did he now?"

"Had even more to say about you."

"I suppose he would," Roy responded haughtily, "I am in great demand these days."

"Cut the shit, Colonel," Rey hissed, " the Madame was very succinct in her orders: you're not to do any of the heavy lifting."

"This is my collar," Roy argued back. He took a step forward and was blocked by Rey's lanky arm. For a moment, Roy contemplated a reprisal but then thought the better of it. It wouldn't serve his purpose to roast one of his co-conspirators. Instead he relented, "Alright, no heavy lifting. You ask the questions and if I don't like the answers, I'll handle it... my way."

Rey considered it briefly before conceding, " You sure you don't want me to get with him even a little bit? His demeanor's just plain pissing me off."

"No need. Although," Roy paused as he set his sights on Thackery, pulling his gloves taut, " you might want to step back. This could get a bit toasty."

Ante up indeed.

A/N: I took a liberty or two with Roy's alchemy and mindset. Author's prerogative :). Hope you enjoyed!