Authors Note: I was going to post this a week ago, but I keep reading others people's fanfiction instead of writing my own.
Rated M: For cursing. When Ed stops, Roy starts. Also scene involving torture and death.
Trigger warning**: Scene involving torture and death. See above. I don't think it's bad, but everyone has their own comfort level.
Plus, my idea of bad is twisted as, and this is true, my father's life dream was to be a zombie movie director before he was bogged down with pesky children. I grew up watching horror movies instead of Disney channel. So yeah.
Chapter 5: In which Katrin has an inner crisis, Roy plays with cigarettes, and Ed fails to wash his hair.
()()()()
Katrin was in shock. Her mind was working like a sluggishly moving river, stopped up with debris. What have I done? That thought swirled around. She had spent her entire adult life working for Bertram. The thought that he was running or even involved with a multi-level drug operation was ludicrous. This man, when they had first started working together, lacked the people skills to get through a dinner without offending at least two people. He was too direct and abrasive in conversation to be any good at public office. The fact that he was the most powerful person in West City, she attributed largely to her influence. But then again, he ran the largest spying operation in the country outside the military. What he lacked in conversational skill he made for in planning and scheming. Drug operations certainly took a lot of scheming, especially if one was going to keep it from one's Secretary. Still, he couldn't have betrayed her.
And Roy Mustang? Bertram hated that man. He mistrusted all alchemists, but the Flame Alchemist was the one with the ambition and charisma to do actual damage. Even so, here she was, helping the enemy. She supposed she could always say that she was simply trying to get inside information, but that would be a lie. Because the truth was that Bertram had sought Schmidt out, had left her with him, and she had almost been murdered in a terrifying alchemy experiment. The truth was that Hawkeye and the Flame had rescued her, not Bertram.
With the Fullmetal, they escaped the prison easily. Every time the tunnel needed expanding, he did so without comment, clapping his hands together with gusto, and every time, the Flame's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue.
In heavy, late night darkness they stood in front of a hovel on the outskirts of the city. West City had an area called Shanty Town, where the poor had spilled out from the confines of the lower city. Mostly it was a vast expanse of ill built shacks with dirt floors and colorful piecemeal ceilings. The sewer system did not extend here and one was lucky if one had access to electricity. Shanty Town was full of Ishvalans, refugees, and criminals. Katrin had never visited this part of the city before.
A scraggly curtain ruffled feebly in the breeze, and she watched as an older man with bright red eyes peeked his head out at the Flame's whispered words. The man looked them all carefully over, lingering on Fullmetal's haggard appearance.
"Mr. Elric," he said with a respectful nod of his head.
"Will you help us?" asked the Flame, drawing the man's attention back to him.
The Ishvalan considered him for a moment and then smiled gently. "Of course, the child of Hohenheim of Light and the Flame are always welcome in the homes of our people."
"Thank you," said Mustang, and to her surprise, he bowed to the man before entering the home.
()()()()
Mustang and Hawkeye left the safe house as soon as they deposited Edward on the sagging couch and rebandaged Roy's wounds. He wanted to ask Ed what he knew about the alchemy, but the boy was dazed and half-unconscious. Knowing that the Binding Alchemist was already moving ahead with whatever plans he had, Roy didn't want to waste time. They had to keep up.
To be honest he wasn't quite sure how they were going to combat this new danger, not with Edward barely able to move and completely distracted by the threat to his brother to boot. Roy himself was not in the best of shape. Moreover, they had a possible hostile tagging along in the form of Katrin Colman. The only person in any real shape to fight was his Lieutenant.
Riza gave Katrin her scary eye, and told her to take care of Edward, with the implication that if she tried to leave they would find her and it would not be pretty. Not that she could have escaped anyway, as the Ishvalan who owned the hovel was plenty capable of keeping an eye on one exhausted and traumatized woman, and a crippled somewhat ex-alchemist.
Keeping the pace slow for his wounds, Roy and Riza walked slowly through empty predawn paths, weaving through the haphazard slums. They had being going for about thirty minutes, when Hawkeye stopped suddenly and said in a voice that allowed for no arguments, "We rest here." Roy decided to save his energy and sat down on a wooden crate, making sure not to bend too much.
He wanted to ask her if she supported his decision to spare the Binding Alchemist. She hadn't said a word about it, and sometimes she was so hard to read, considering he could usually predict her mood better than he could his own. She stood while he sat, mournfully facing the rising sun. Watching the red streaks grow in the sky, he let his mind and body rest for the first time since entering the prison.
Roy observed his lieutenant, as her eyes trailed the brightening colors. The image was marred, however, when he caught her eyes turning in a movement that he automatically copied. They scanned the area for enemies together, and the sunrise lost some of its magic.
"You're awfully reflective this morning, Sir."
He wasn't surprised that she noticed, nor when she turned to face him patiently.
"I was thinking about the sunrise," he answered softly. He paused for a moment and then quoted, "When everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."
"My father said that."
Her father had been a hard man, a man who saw enemies and traitors everywhere. However, he had also understood splendor, and he passed on that understanding to his daughter, along with his research. 'The Devil's work,' he had called it.
Roy frowned, stretching out his legs and wishing they had coffee.
"I suppose this whole thing has made me wonder." He paused, thinking of his next words. "What you would have had, if it weren't for the military. If it weren't for the hate and destruction that this country seems to attract. If it weren't for the monsters."
So there can be no more Flame Alchemists.
He gazed at her then, looking for the answer to his question in her face, but she was expressionless.
"You sound like Ed," she finally said, her mouth twisting in a small smile. "Guilt isn't becoming on you." She gave him a wry look.
"No?" he laughed, breaking the mood. "I suppose you're right. He was silent again for a moment, but then he said, "Ed is hiding something."
"Yes," she agreed. She gave him her arm and helped pull him up, understanding without being told that he was ready to move on.
Roy was troubled about Edward. The returned alchemy and the statement about 'pieces of Roy' did not bode well. In addition, there was the look that Ed had carried since returning from the Gate, which Roy could have traced in his sleep. It was a look of shame. The expression that had marred Ed's face for years was disconcerting to see once more.
"Wilson's apartment is two blocks over," Hawkeye stated as they padded over a wooden bridge and back into the city proper.
"He's a long time overdue for a visit," Roy said darkly, pulling out a lighter.
()()()()
Edward sat on the rotten sofa, stretched out with his eyes closed. Katrin observed him as his chest trembled with each breath. His stomach was so splotched with dried blood that the carving was no longer discernible. She found it difficult to keep her eyes on him; it was as if someone had taken a butcher knife to his chest, and it tugged at some primal instinct in her to see another person in so much pain.
Instead, she watched the Ishvalan as he laid a kettle over the fire for hot water with slow serene movements.
"How do you know Edward?" she asked curiously, remembering how he had greeted the boy earlier.
The Ishvalan spoke briskly. "I don't." He looked up at her kindly and added, "I knew his father."
She heard the Fullmetal snort, and she turned to see his eyes open and watching her.
"You could have asked me."
"You were a bit out of it."
"Yeah," he said, looking down as his smeared and bloody chest. He cast a glance around the small hut, taking in the Ishvalan and the lack of Mustang and his Lieutenant. The Fullmetal then turned and grinned at her disturbingly. He had a habit of showing all of his teeth in a way that reminded her of Schmidt. Maybe it was an alchemist thing.
He looked at her calculatingly for a moment and then asked with a mocking tone, "You have a deep identity crisis about what you're doing helping the traitors yet?"
She couldn't believe he just asked her that. She glared at him and snapped, forgetting for the moment that his chest was torn up, "Were you born an asshole, or is that a product of a military upbringing?"
He countered, "Were you born a spineless witch who never thinks for herself or is that a product of public office?"
They glared at each other, Edward with his filthy matted hair, and Katrin with her stained business suit. The Ishvalan finally interrupted them by handing Katrin a pile of rags and the kettle of water. "Here," he grunted. She felt a bit confused about what she was supposed to do with it, but he jerked his head toward Edward in an obvious gesture, and she gulped as she realized what he wanted.
He had to be joking. The Fullmetal had been awake for two minutes and they were already snarling at each other. Elric did not like her, nor was she particularly fond of him, and that was that. He had essentially told her that he blamed her, in part, for what happened to him in the prison. Even if she were willing to help him clean himself up, which she wasn't sure she was, he would never accept her help in the first place.
She looked at the Ishvalan frantically and said, "Maybe it would be better if you did it." The man frowned at her, and she could sense his disappointment.
Before she was forced to say something else, Fullmetal interrupted, "Jeez, I don't need help wiping off a bit of blood," and he snatched the rags out of her hand. Feeling extremely awkward, she watched as he dipped the rag in the water and gingerly began to clean his chest.
While that was going on, the Ishvalan turned to work on the fire pit. She watched for a bit, thinking, and a moment of clarity hit her as Edward dabbed fastidiously at his wounds.
She had originally followed Bertram for the idea that he represented, the idea of self-governance, taking power away from the military, and putting it back in the hands of the people. It was painful to think that Bertram may have strayed from that dream, but she couldn't focus on that if she wanted to stay sane. The Bertram she knew would want her to do anything in her power to fight corruption and protect the people, even if it meant going against him to do it.
In that vein, there was one thing she did know. Schmidt had evil plans and he was an immediate threat. Therefore, she should help neutralize that threat, which meant aiding Roy Mustang and his friends. Mustang may be a representation of the corrupt power of the military but at least he wasn't running around murdering people in alchemy experiments. A part of her whispered that Bertram would say Mustang had tried to murder an entire country of people three years ago, but at some point in the last twenty-four hours, she had stopped believing that was the whole truth of the Promised Day incident. She sat for a moment longer, looking at Edward's pinched face.
"I volunteered in a field hospital during the war," she exclaimed suddenly. As soon as it was out of her mouth she wanted to take the words back, but the Ishvalan had already grinned, and Edward was looking at her with an openly curious expression. She was surprised that the hostility had left his face so quickly, but she decided not to question it too much.
"I didn't know that," he responded, cocking his head. She almost laughed at the absurdity. Of course he didn't know that, he knew nothing about her other than that she had helped imprison him. However, that meant she knew nothing about him either, other than how he reacted when imprisoned.
"Well, I really was a glorified office worker. I organized timetables," she admitted.
"Oh."
Plunging ahead, she said, "But, I watched a lot of what the nurses did. I could take a look at your leg."
Looking like he would refuse, he opened his mouth to speak, so she took that option away by grabbing his leg and tearing away the ragged remains of his pants and soiled bandages.
He let out a muffled noise of protest but didn't kick away. Taking that as acquiescence, she examined the lacerations hidden under the wraps a bit more closely, wincing at what she saw.
"That bad huh?" His mouth twitched wryly as she met his gaze.
"Some of these are mildly infected. If we clean them we should be able to combat that."
He jerked when she touched a particularly bruised and sensitive area. "Watch it, dammit." With an offended face, he bristled at her, but she didn't take it seriously. She was slowly learning that the Fullmetal didn't put a lot force behind his snarling bad attitude.
"You curse like a back alley hobo," she admonished, trying to hold him still.
"Military brat," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He frowned and then added, "Back alley hobo, really?"
"Hmn."
She was thinking about everything she knew about Edward Elric. There were the stories of course, of the great hero of the East. Bertram had always scoffed at these stories. He always said that Mustang probably spread them on purpose to raise his standing as the man in charge of the brat.
Edward Elric joined the army when he was twelve, the youngest person in history to join the alchemy program and attain the rank of Major. He was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel after the Incident, right before he quit in order to travel the world with his brother. He was supposed to be some kind of genius, a prodigy. Put together, that wasn't much, and it didn't cover anything important, like why.
"What did that transmutation do?" she demanded, pausing her ministrations to meet his eyes. His expression darkened and he hesitated.
"Not what it was supposed to," was his cryptic answer. He gave her that hard, scrutinizing teacher look and waited for her to answer.
She thought carefully about it, trying to picture exactly what had happened. Hawkeye shot the Major. She remembered how the transmutation went crazy after that. However, if she remembered correctly it wasn't after he fell, but after Hawkeye barreled into-
"The Lieutenant pushed me from the circle," she exclaimed. Fullmetal acknowledged her with a small nod.
"I was fuel." Everyone knew what happened to alchemists who did not give their transmutations enough fuel, whether because they did not draw the circle correctly, or because they could not channel the energy needed. It was partly why the profession was so dangerous and elite. If you did not give enough energy, the transmutation would attack its caster, in what alchemists called a rebound.
"I don't understand though, why didn't it kill you instead of me?" This added a new light to Edward's irritation with her. She had not realized how much he risked in saving her life. Another thought occurred to her. Schmidt's reference now made much more sense. Was it worth it, saving her?
Edward answered her in a lecturing tone. "It was a three part transmutation. The third part never happened, which is why it didn't need fuel, but that also means that whatever it intended to do probably won't work as smoothly as if might have." She finished the end of that sentence in her head. If she had died to complete it, he meant.
"Wasn't it intended to give you your alchemy back?" she asked. His alchemy had look fairly normal to her, but she wasn't an expert on what normal alchemy should look like.
"Yes," he said curtly.
She waited for him to continue but when he didn't she huffed and said, "And?"
"And what?"
"What happened, or is happening? What were the three parts, especially the last part that never happened?"
"Look, lady this isn't really your business. You never answered my first question. Aren't you going to just run off to precious Bertram as soon as we turn our backs?" His eyes were narrow and hard.
She swallowed but found she couldn't answer him. Her tongue felt thick.
"That's what I thought," he said softly. He turned his head away and they didn't talk as she finished cleaning up his leg.
()()()()
Roy smirked at the man tied up in the chair. The man's head hung limply and he was almost naked. Torn underpants were all that kept his decency aloft.
"Wilson—my—friend."
The man's eyes twitched and slowly came into focus as he seemed to realize his situation. He suddenly jerked on his restraints, watching Roy with wild eyes.
Mustang backhanded him across the face and snarled, "Quit it." Grabbing his own chair, he sat on it backwards, leaning against the spine. He cocked his head, studying his prisoner. Luckily, Hawkeye had known where Wilson lived, and it wasn't terribly far from the safe house. He obviously wasn't making too much money as a corrupt prison guard to be that close to the slums, and he obviously wasn't too smart to come straight home after his disastrous day at work. Ambushing him had been easy.
"You know, speaking of friends, Edward Elric is one of mine. We did work together for three years after all. Kind of like you and me."
The man's answer was muffled by the rag over his mouth.
"What's that now? You really have to speak up." Mustang kicked him hard in the shin, and the whimpering heightened in pitch.
In reality, Mustang was rather uncomfortable. His chest itched and burned, and a headache was building in his left temple. That, added to the lack of sleep, and he was not in a forgiving mood to the person sniveling in front of him. Wilson was everything that Roy hated in a person, and he kept seeing Edward crouched on the ground, his skin torn to shreds, in the worst situation possible, and still begging for the safety of his brother. The character contrast was undeniable.
"Should've seen his knees, Edward's," Roy continued with a deceiving air of nonchalance. His eyes narrowed. "Like someone took a meat grinder to them," he hissed. Leaning forward he locked eyes with Wilson, holding his gaze until Hawkeye's shuffling broke the spell.
She gave Roy a questioning look and he realized that she hadn't actually seen Edward's knees. That had happened beyond the Gate. He shrugged at her, with a 'talk about it later' look, and then went back to glaring at Wilson.
Mustang was trying to go for cold indifference but the hot rage kept bubbling up. Schmidt was one thing, but Wilson had been a friend and Roy took his friendships very seriously. It was frustrating, to have this little control over his anger, to feel the need to punish. Edward was the one who let loose with every emotion. Roy couldn't afford to do so. In terms of the interrogation, it didn't really matter how angry Wilson thought he was, especially if it got him to talk faster, but he knew Hawkeye could tell the difference between feigned intimidation and true rage. And Hawkeye was the person he had to keep reassured here.
Roy stood up and pulled the rag from Wilson's mouth. The man watched him expectantly as if there would be more violence, but Roy sat back down. Hawkeye stood near the door, observing them both with a grim expression.
Cold and to the point, Mustang asked, "So, Wilson, did you go corrupt before or after you left the Military?"
Wilson glowered, twisting uncomfortably in his restraints. Rather than answer the question he asked with a snarl, "You honestly think this can go anywhere? Bertram has everyone who has ever owed him a favor out looking for you. All the manpower of West City and you waltz into the home of one his top supporters?"
Roy and Hawkeye snorted together. "Ooh, top supporter. Didn't realize prison guards had that much to offer public officials. Did you Lieutenant?"
"No sir."
"No sir," Mustang drawled as Wilson desperately cast his gaze around.
"Look man, I didn't think-."
"You didn't think what?" Roy spat. "That I would be alive to come after you?"
"I-," Wilson gulped.
"No," Roy thundered. "You thought after you sold me out that they were going to let me skip on my merry way to the Brass so I could tell them just what you've been up to?!" With a huff he said, "Please—don't insult me. You planned murder, Wilson, and nothing less."
Wilson didn't respond to the accusation.
Ignoring that and changing the topic, Roy demanded, "Why did Schmidt experiment on the Fullmetal and me?" He held his breath expectantly.
Wilson looked a bit confused. "I don't know. That was Bertram."
"You're telling me you're such a big supporter of Bertram that you can't tell me why he would kidnap one of the most prominent figures in the country and experiment on him?" Roy rolled his eyes and Wilson glowered again.
"Look man, All I know is we keep Bertram happy and he ignores us. No one cares what he gets up to. He asked for Schmidt and the Fullmetal."
Mustang considered him for a moment, and then exchanged glances with Hawkeye who nodded almost imperceptibly.
With a clank, Mustang clambered off his chair. He smiled at Wilson and shook his head, 'No I get it. I do." He smiled again reassuringly, and started fumbling with something in his coat pocket that was just out sight for Wilson. "We alchemists, we like to experiment. No hard feelings." He let his hand fall and Wilson saw that it contained a lighter. At that, a slight sheen of sweat started to form on Wilson's forehead.
"Me, for example, I was always interested in burns. Almost everyone knows that there are three degrees of severity." Indifferently, he began to flick the lighter on and off. Wilson watched as the Flame Alchemist's hands caressed the fire gently, his thumb rubbing over the shiny metal of the lighter.
"However, what many people don't know is that the degrees are misleading, at least in terms of pain. It's actually the second-degree burn that is the most painful. You see, third-degree means that the nerves have been burned off." He shrugged. "No nerves, no pain. So I always wondered how bad I could get a second-degree before burning the nerve off." His smile was no longer reassuring. "What do you think Wilson?"
"I think you're as crazy as Schmidt!" Wilson said, as he struggled against his restraints again.
Roy watched him pitilessly. "You know who else I saw struggling like that, recently? The people you burned up like human batteries!"
"You're wrong. I'm not Schmidt! That wasn't my fault." Wilson shouted.
"Quiet," Roy threatened. "No. I could never mistake you for Schmidt. He is batshit crazy, but you—you're just a coward, and in a way that's even worse." He loomed over Wilson.
"You knew it was wrong, and you let it go on anyway. You are responsible."
"So you're going to torture me to death as punishment? What gives you the right?" demanded Wilson.
Roy's answer was to muffle Wilson's mouth again, before stepping back.
The Flame Alchemist lit one of the cigarettes that had still been in Hawkeye's coat pocket. His eyes cold and emotionless, he plunged the burning cigarette into Wilson's chest.
()()()()
Ed was close to chopping off what was left of his hair. Growling with frustration, he tried to reposition himself to where he could dunk his head in the bucket of water without bending his waist. He swerved and held back a screech as he found that this position was no better than the other was.
Goddammit. It wasn't like he could ask Miss Pity Wallow over there for help. She was studiously ignoring him anyway, and the Ishvalan had pissed him off with the comments on his father. With a muttered swear he decided to take a break from his efforts, and began to shuffle back to the couch. Even if it was painful, thinking about hair problems was a lot better than twisting circles in his mind about the alchemy. He glared at his hands, ignoring the temptation to clap them together just to feel the rush of power.
Pity Wallow was sitting on one end of the sagging couch, and with a vindictive smirk, Ed laid himself delicately down on the other end, making as much noise and movement as he could without twisting anything painful. She glared at him but he pretended not to notice. With a yawn, he stretched out both his legs, unsubtly kicking Katrin in the hip with his metal limb.
"Do you mind?" she grimaced.
"Not at all," he said sweetly and kicked her again, grinning when she swore and stood up. The satisfaction of winning that round was only tempered by the alchemy theories racing through his mind. For no matter how he put it off, two people were dead, and it should be three. The transmutation, as incomplete as it was, would still do something. The returned ability was proof of that. He just wasn't sure what else was in store, especially when it came to Mustang.
He jumped as a shiver suddenly raced sown his back. It was like an electrical current, hot and tingly. What the hell was that?
()()()()
"You're lying, Wilson. Why would you lie to me?" Mustang grabbed Wilson's cheek and squeezed painfully.
Wilson stared at him with wild unfocused eyes. It was like something broke inside of him and suddenly he was sobbing. "They knew, they knew." He let out some garbled noises and said, "But they didn't know I knew. I saw them talking about it, but they don't know. That's good, right? It's what you wanted to know."
"Speak clearly scumbag. What did you see?"
"I heard them talking about a spy," he gasped. "They have a turncoat in your office."
Roy glared, "There is no one in my office who would betray me." He was affronted at the very idea.
"No it's true. They didn't say who. They were bragging, because you're known for having such loyal subordinates. Something about Lieutenant Havoc's reports."
Roy was flabbergasted. Havoc was the last person to betray him. He took a homunculus claw for Roy, and Roy returned the favor by healing him with the last philosopher stone. Havoc was Roy's most trusted subordinate after Hawkeye.
However, most of Havocs reports were not kept in the locked office with the rest of the paperwork. Hawkeye had complained because Havoc's work always stunk to high heaven. There was a special bin in the main office, where everyone had access.
The dots were connecting horrendously because Ed filed no more reports. Which meant Havoc took the brunt of recording his dealings and conversation s with the Elric brothers. He probably hadn't even thought to start a file in Hawkeyes office for them. What would be the purpose? They weren't in the military anymore, they weren't up to illegal things that needed to be hidden.
Everyone cared about the Elrics. Havoc put his Elric reports in the bin, where everyone could see them.
Composing himself a bit, Roy said, "Bit convenient that you know all this without knowing who exactly it was."
"No," Wilson answered desperately. "They wouldn't say names like that. It's bad security."
"But they would discuss spies? Bullshit."
"Please, Bertram is out to weaken the military. He had this whole plan for reinstating the power of the assembly. You're the most prominent member of the military right now. He has to take you down."
"And Schmidt?"
"Schmidt's out for himself."
"Okay Wilson, I believe you that you're telling the truth."
Wilson raised his face hopefully. "Really?"
"No." Roy glared. "It doesn't made sense. Weaken the military. You expose the conspiracies and corruption. You make friends and gather evidence. You don't kidnap people and experiment on them, and don't even get me started on the drugs. That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. Now, what's he up to really?"
Wilson sobbed, "I don't know!"
Roy considered him. There was a spy in Roy's office. Either Havoc, Breda, Fuery, Brosh, or Catalina, his current team, had betrayed him to Bertram. Bertram was a good intelligence operative. Roy had assumed from the get go that that was how he knew so much about them.
A spy.
If that were true, and if it were true that Bertram and his conspirators did not know that Wilson had access to this information, then Mustang had just gained an advantage, one he desperately needed.
He motioned to his Lieutenant, and they stepped out of the room.
"Is there something you would like to say Lieutenant," asked Roy, his voice somewhat harsh.
They were standing in Wilson's kitchen, away from the prisoner. The smell of cigarettes and charred flesh drifting throughout the entire house was difficult to escape, however, here they had a view of Wilson over the island, yet were far enough away to have a bit of privacy.
She met his eyes and her lip curved downwards. "You're going to kill him," she said in a low whisper.
He didn't ask how she was so sure of that, there wasn't any point. She was right of course.
She continued, "I guess I wondered why you didn't kill Schmidt, back at the prison." The question he had been waiting for her to ask.
Those wide brown eyes gazed at him quizzically. By reading between the lines, he knew she was asking why he had been willing to risk letting an enemy live then, when arguably Schmidt was the much more dangerous person, but not now.
"You know why," he said. Because Edward had been staring at him with that desperate expression. Because it would have risked Alphonse, and Roy could never do that in front of Edward.
"Because I'm a fool." His gaze hardened. "You know we can't let him live. He'll go straight to Schmidt or Bertram, and we'll lose our only advantage."
"I know."
He hadn't actually been planning on killing Wilson, but that was before the interrogation had been so successful. By telling them just how Schmidt had come to have such an advantage over Mustang, he had guaranteed that they would kill him to prevent Schmidt from finding out that they knew. It had to be done, yet Mustang couldn't get the sick feeling to leave his chest.
Roy turned his head to face the man bound in the living room. With his head lolling and his chest torn up, he hardly looked better than Mustang. Roy could see even from here, the harsh and unsteadiness of his breathing. It's only going to get worse, you bastard.
Mustang himself wasn't feeling very good. The list of physical ailments now included strange hot flashes that kept racing up and down his back. The closest he had ever felt to something similar was when they had shot him up with morphine in the hospital. Bizarre, tingling waves of warmth were even more reason to hurry this up and get back so he could talk to Edward.
I'm about to commit my first intended murder since the war, if you don't count the Homunculi. This man had chosen his path, and Roy could not allow these people to complete it. Too many people were counting on him. There was too much corruption here and too many monsters.
I'm sorry Hughes.
"Shoot him." The order was spoken loud enough that Wilson heard it. His head shot up, and he began to sob through the rag in his mouth. Tears leaked from his eyes in thick streaks as he locked gazes with Mustang.
Mustang stared unblinkingly at the man while Hawkeye cocked her gun next to his head and blew his brains out.
()()()()
Endnote: Roy is actually quoting Kurt Vonnegut in the second part, but since they don't have Vonnegut in FMA world, I improvised. Also there was a whole conversation between Ed and Roy about the alchemy and some freaky bond stuff that got pushed back to next chapter. This chapter just got too long for me to keep up with.