Heheh, thanks for waiting! From now on, my chapters will be split up into sections with separate titles, Part I, Part II, etc. And the rating had to go up. You'll see why…

THIS FANFICTION IS FAN-MADE AND IS NO WAY ASSOCIATED WITH EITHER ANIME COMPANY IN ANY WAY. ALL COPYRIGHTS GO TO THE RESPECTED OWNERS.

Gunslinger Alchemist: A Crossover Fanfiction

"The boy has a mechanical body, but he is still an adolescent child…"

Chapter 4: A Broken Heart in my Hands, The Truth Revealed

I. War and Destruction

The mind of a murderer is a fearful and dark place for any normal person to tread. The ability to go through a state of mind where conscience is meaningless and thoughts of vengeance are put into motion would disgust anyone with sense. Then again there are those cowards among the masses who would in fact want someone dead deep in their hearts. But of course these people would never actually kill another. They need to maintain that sort of façade towards the public eye.

Murderers and assassins take this one step further. They continue a normal routine then wait until the opportunity is at its best. They release all their pent up rage and emotions on their victims only when the time is right.

What is so frightening about those that kill is that they possess the instinct. Their version of reality would be enough to set fear into the bravest of hearts. It is in their nature to be deceitful, not only to others but to themselves.

Possibly the most intriguing feature of the killer is how they react to their handiwork. Does he resent what he's done? Does he enjoy the rush of excitement in his blood? For every one it is a different reason or cause, whether out of sheer pleasure or rage. Maybe the most interesting explanations come from those unexplainable assassins, the innocent looking enough people that quietly lived out their lives among the masses. When asked why they did what they did they simply reply "I don't know".

Edward Elric was a particular case in the matter. Specially trained by the Society in the operation of sub-machine guns, knives, and grenades since childhood, he at fifteen years-of-age had killed at least seventy people over a period of four years. His tactics were brutal, almost cruel, but it was just what those scumbag politicians and bombers deserved. A one way ticket to hell. Edward had never really questioned his superiors at the organization why he was brought up in such ways. What was the point of another shrugged of explanation?

The red-stained meeting room in which he now stood seemed bigger than before the unwelcome redecoration of bloodied furniture and disheveled corpses. The lighting was less than acceptable now that the only source, a circular pendant light, wavered slightly as the bulb flickered on and off. Two window shades had been sharply pulled downward by three of the lifeless bodies lying motionless on the floor.

Shots had been fired not only belonging to the defending grunts. Bullet holes lined the once turquoise walls and a counterpart of bronze casings littered the ground. Two tables and a few chairs were flipped over and water from a fallen, red-shrieked flower vase leaked into the carpeting. It mixed with the red splotches in an unpleasant fashion. The apartment was on the scene of war-torn assassination and destruction, a common sight Edward was used to gazing upon. Now he was one left standing from the battle. At least the easy part was done.

Edward took his not-so-loaded MP40 from floor putting it back in his trunk and deposited his pistol in his right shoulder holster. Slapping his bloodily soaked hands, he created a shock of alchemy that reversed his bladed prosthetic limb to its original state. His clothes as well were soaked in the crimson of the fallen.

The young assassin had quickly gotten used to the limited freedoms on the job. By now he was permitted to attend raids on his own so long as there wasn't back up needed. A good five-man political meeting was all he needed to let off some steam.

A blood-smeared telephone suddenly started to ring from under a knocked over bullet-riddled side table. Edward casually answered the call. He knew who it was already. "Mission accomplished," he droned his over-used line.

"Excellent," the Colonel replied from his office desk back at the Society. "How'd it go?"

Edward lazily wiped a stray splatter from his cheek. "Not bad, actually. Five guys total, few of them had pistols and machetes. It was pretty easy after I started. I also managed to recover some finance documents." He waved a crumpled blue spreadsheet folder in his other hand; despite the fact the Colonel couldn't see it.

"That's good," Mustang paused to write something down as the sound of pen scratches was heard in the background. "You didn't dismember any of them, did you?" he asked in a suspicious undertone.

The student turned toward the lifeless form of a disembodied arm, the bone and muscles clearly visible where it was severed, lying on the floor near his feet. He scratched the back of his head and laughed nervously. "Heheh, just a little bit!"

Mustang sighed wearily over the line. Edward could almost feel the approaching lecture coming on. "Destroying evidence at the scene, erasing memories, and filling out paperwork as part of the clean up crew isn't exactly the easiest job in the world. STOP MAKING IT HARDER THEN IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE!!!"

Edward stretched out his arm with the phone, avoiding possible ear damage from his handler's shouts. He rolled his eyes but gave the overworked Colonel a "Yes, sir, it wouldn't happen again, sir" and an involuntary salute. At that moment he could have sworn Mustang had slammed his head on his office desk. "Sir?" He cringed slightly, preparing himself for the aftershock.

The Colonel wiped a hand down his face in the attempt to soften his inner anger. "It's okay, I'll let it slide this time," he muttered. "Let's just hurry back home."

Edward raised an eyebrow at the comment. Even though the Society was where he lived and slept he would hardly call it home, barely a dormitory. Wow, the Colonel really wasn't getting enough sleep. He shrugged it off and decided to play along for once. "Yeah, let's go home." Hanging up the phone Edward then collapsed onto the sofa, admiring his bloody craftsmanship.

The body whose right arm had been dismembered lay spread out vertically on the sofa next to him in a disturbing position face up. This man had been the third one down, but perhaps the fourth. Edward had lost tract of the order. He had made an annoyingly long struggle when he had been firing the machine gun out of fear after seeing his comrades stricken down in blood like an epidemic. Dodging the bullets was pathetically easy as he missed half his shots completely. The severing of his arm had been a great help in bringing him down.

At least three bullets had been lodged directly into the chest, red dripping from the holes. The man's light gray eyes were still open wide in a permanent stare off into the darkened wall. Edward hated when that happened. It seemed as if the person blaming him for his inhumanity.

The teenager reached over toward the corpse's eyelids and shut them. "Rest is peace, you bastard," he said softly. Leaning back fully into the sofa he stretched his tired limbs and yawned. Edward cradled his head with his arms, letting a wave of sleep overtake him. A killer needs his rest, right?

Well, that was quite unappetizing XD. Very sorry if I disturbed anyone. Now you now why the rating is up, at least. I go a bit sadistic when doing descriptions like these. XD I was listening to Lacuna Coil's "Angel's Punishment" in an Elfen Lied AMV and it really got me going! I promise the next part will be happier. Hughes' part will be expanded!! Hooray for Super Dad!! XD Also, that last part if you're wondering was based on a quote from the grand master House MD from my favorite episode, No Reason. I love House so much!!