Where is Alphonse?!
When the realization had hit her, Riza's knees locked in position, unable to believe that she'd forgotten the younger Elric. The last time she'd seen him, he'd clanged through the halls of HQ beside his older brother, talking softly and politely nodding at the officers who passed even though his brother would scoff at him.
But the two always stuck together.
So how could Alphonse be missing? How could he just sit back and let his older brother be accused of such a crime, not even trying to support him, not even paying a visit? Riza's knees were locked in place, contemplating on the subject that wouldn't escape her mind, no matter how hard she pushed it.
Was Alphonse...angry at his brother..? Did he know what he did, and decided to disown him?
It was a headache indeed, Hawkeye striving to understand the meaning of this realization, needing to know the truth about the Elrics and the crime and her superior's death.
She slid a night-gown over her bare body, getting prepared to get some long over-due rest. Once Havoc and her had received the not-so-helpful information from Ling, it was clear that the two had taken the train together to Xing, while not paying a visit to Ling, possibly visiting this girl that Alphonse thought so fondly of.
And with Havoc's blunt, un-clever mind, the next step to solving the case was uncovered quickly.
"Well, since the two went to Xing to see this girl, we need to find out what exactly happened there, since he supposedly killed the Colonel here in Amestris, only a few days after his trip from Xing. If you can, Ling, we'd appreciate it if you'd find some of Xing's files on the two's payments in your country, since you're a prince it'll be easy for you to access the information. Find travel payments, and talk to that girl, Mei Chang." She remembered him saying, as though it was the easiest process in the world.
What was quizzical about the whole situation was the way Ling smiled and agreed to this so fondly, as though the case meant something important to him, as though he cared about the outcome.
"Glad to help," He'd said in an upbeat manner, "I don't think Ed would have the guts to kill his superior, he's always been a little wimp. Anyway, looks like I'll be returning back to Xing. Best of luck."
So that's why he wanted to help- he doesn't like the idea of his friend being tougher than him.
But Riza couldn't deny that the help was much needed, and so she agreed whole-heartedly to Ling's assistance, waving curtly to him as he suspiciously jumped from the six-story window, smiling the whole way. When Havoc turned to her, wearing a similar expression, even the always-stern Riza couldn't help but laugh at how strange the people the Elrics seemed to have close connections with were. It really said a lot about those two.
Sliding into her bed, Hawkeye found herself tossing and turning for a shorter period than she had become used to after the death of Roy, finding herself drifting into an almost peaceful sleep.
Edward sat in his cell, a plate filled with rotten food sitting in front of him, flies stealing the dinner he didn't have the stomach to eat while he sat in the same place for days, unable to tell night from day while time flew by.
When light flew into the darkness he'd become so accustomed to, his downcast eyes dully dragged themselves from the floor, hopelessly willing his time would come.
A guard stepped into the light, flicking on a switch to rid the two of all shadows, but not shutting the door behind himself.
Another being stepped into the light, this time, a young man who shared the same age as Edward himself, sending him a knowing look, a look of recognition.
Of course, that look couldn't be shared by the blonde boy, who'd grown so accustomed to loneliness. He simply observed as the other tried to smile and wave, act casual, and pay a simple visit to his old friend.
Ling Yao, he was: Ling Yao turned to the other teen, growing sick to his stomach at the sight of his old friend, his short-tempered, genius friend, sitting in the dust on a jail floor, observing flies picking on a supper of grool and moldy bread. It made him feel sick to watch the person whom he'd trusted so much fall apart in front of his eyes, to watch the other flit about with his own fingers even though his hands were bound.
Though the ill feeling didn't escape him, Ling stepped closer, observing the empty visiter's list that confirmed his suspicions that Edward was on his own.
"Ed..." Was all he could manage, testing out his own voice to see it it'd reach the ears that may have sat in front of him, but were obviously somewhere else.
Edward's once bright eyes turned to him, lackluster hindering his friend's once-glow.
"Ed, I want to know something." He said finally, catching Edward's vacant stare.
"I don't care whether or not you are a killer, Ed. I know that if you did commit this crime, you must have your reasons. But," He paused, planning every word carefully, hoping that his words would spike something in Edward to snap him back to reality. "I don't like your silence. All of us need your words, we need you to tell us what's going on in your head, what you think about all of this. If you stay quiet, we'll never know what happened, and we'll never be able to help you out of this."
Ed's dull eyes flickered for a moment with light, he lifted his head slightly as though his mind had wandered back into his head. He watched.
Ling smiled, noticing Ed's change in posture, and deciding to start the conversation.
"So then, what happened to Alphonse?"
In an instant, Edward had crawled back into his isolated shell, and although Ling didn't receive any information about Al's whereabouts, he now knew that it wasn't the murder of Roy Mustang that promoted Edward's secluded nature: It was Alphonse.
Sleeping soundly, she found herself awakening into the depths of her own dark mind, spotting her own trembling hands, shaking with adrenaline rushes caused by her anger
Her pain. Her furious panting as she ran, the sweat dripping coldly down her fragile chest, she sprinted across a dark street, never coming closer to her goal, never reaching the other side, just moving for the sake of moving. The street lights she passed flashed in her vision, but didn't stop her. Faster, faster she went, the only thought in her mind was death, trying to find a place to hide from this fear she felt, trying to get away.
She ran.
The nightmare continued as she turned a street corner, her feet stumbling slightly as she tried to keep moving, to keep up or to get ahead, she didn't know. Just moving, running through a dark ally way toward this goal she felt she'd never reach.
Yet she found herself soaked in sweat and tears.
Her eyes became wet with water, flowing down her face as she strained her lungs for breath, her limbs not moving as quick as her mind, her mind urging her body onward, the tears kept coming.
The pain, the internal struggle she felt was unbearable, the fear, the hurt, the ANGER.
She found herself pinching her eyes shut, squeezing some final tears out before her throat would close, making the race more difficult.
But when they blinked once again, she found they'd pinned themselves to a glistening object in her fingers, a silver creation that reflected the moonlight above.
A knife.
Suddenly, she found it was difficult to go on, guilt weighed in on her body before she could understand what she'd done, her feet rushing to a stop, her gasps for breath catching her sobbing voice within themselves, eyes watering as she cried, holding the knife close to her drowning face as her sins flashed before her:
She held the knife, sprinting down the ally way until a shape came into view. It turned to her, sparing her a small smirk as it acknowledged her presence, her feet moving closer and closer until suddenly she was just a foot away. The being glanced down at her possession, a questioning glance sent between her knife and her tearing face, and before she knew it the knife was out of her hands and lodged in their chest, her hands felt wet before she could understand what she'd done.
But with a look down at her body, she saw her blonde locks hung down her face like bangs, her normally spotless clothing was torn and her chest unusually flat...and her hands...these hands were not her hands.
Suddenly, she was a he, and beneath his knife lay Roy Mustang, blood spewing from a wound in his chest, and he knew what he'd done. At first a satisfied feeling overwhelmed him, he felt his revenge had paid him well, but with another glance at his feet, the crimson touching the bottom of his black leather-jeans and boots, he fell to the floor in a heap of sobs of guilt and sorrow.
He knew what he'd done.
And soon he was on the run again, finally realizing that though this nightmare felt as though he was being chased, that someone was in pursuit of him, that he was an innocent, it was actually the opposite:
He was the pursuer:
In the pursuit to kill.