Such Is the Life of a Slut

Chapter Seven: Loyalty (Bradley x Frank Archer)

I would gladly shoot myself in the face for the extremely long wait. I'm so sorry to all my loyal readers out there! I went through one of the worst writer's blocks of my entire history of writing! So to make up for it, I decided to give you the goodness you've been asking for. What, you might ask? Why the BradleyArcher that you all love!

…Or something like that. Limey told me to go write the next chapter, or she'd write it for me, so I relented. It's probably crap. But at least you have it!

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"What do I have left to live for? Tell me!"

"Colonel, don't stress yourself out, not so soon after—"

"Why did you do this? I'd rather be dead!"


"Sir, don't say that…"

It was rather funny, he thought. The very people who had turned him into this had been the ones that convinced him to fight. It had to have been a plan all along. Though why would they save him? Why? He was just your average, run-of-the-mill ambitious bastard willing to do anything for power, all the while just barely staying this side of legal. Who in their right mind would order those expensive automail parts, and who would willingly operate on a man barely alive? They must have gotten paid much more than he was getting paid. Then again, he couldn't even return home, he couldn't do anything he'd been able to do before.

But he was capable of so much more.

"You are the only one who can protect me from the rebels now."

Archer frowned, though the expression was skewed as always by the automail. The Fuhrer trusted him. The Fuhrer gave Archer the responsibility of looking after his safety. This was Archer's job. So why hadn't he been informed of the rebels' movement earlier!? The Colonel stormed out of the offices hurriedly, hearing loud shouts from further down the hallway. Wait, he recognized that voice—Edward Elric! The bratty teenager who'd cheated on the State Alchemist test. With that, the wall was broken down, words were exchanged, and Archer opened fire.

He was a weapon, after all. He wasn't human. It was thrilling, to be able to put his entire being into every single shot that rang out from the automail left arm. It was in moments like this that he wished this had happened earlier. If only he'd been able to open fire like this in Liore…! But now wasn't the time for reminiscing. He had to save the Fuhrer. He was the only one the Fuhrer could trust now, everyone was a rebel. Once-friends were now enemies, and then rivals were…

Where was he, anyway? Mustang? He was always with that Elric boy, probably because of—actually, Archer would rather not think about them. But Mustang wasn't here, which meant…

"I trust you, Colonel Archer. I believe you are the only one strong enough to carry this burden, and to make it something better. You are the state's weapon—you are my weapon."

"Yours, of course, sir."

It was funny how he still respected and cared for the man that had told him bluntly that he was nothing more than a weapon. The Fuhrer understood though, in a way that no one else could. The Fuhrer cared…

Riza Hawkeye had gotten away. But it was enough proof for him. If she was here, then her little love-interest wasn't far. Roy Mustang had to be here. The grenade from before had severely damaged his human right side, but the automail hadn't even scratched. He really was more machine than human. And in a way, he just didn't care. He had to protect the Fuhrer. He was the only one left.

"Mustang."

It was all his fault. It was all his damn fault. How could he want to kill the Fuhrer? Fuhrer Bradley had done a damn good job in office. Was it just because of a second war? Was Roy really that damn self-centered? Did he really think all this was about innocent deaths? There were always innocent deaths in war! Selfish bastard, he deserved to die.

There he was, framed by the flaming innards of the Fuhrer's once-great mansion. Archer's remaining ice-colored eye narrowed, it was obvious. The Fuhrer was dead. Roy Mustang, the man he'd wanted to be when he was human had killed him. The automail left arm raised, stolen military-issued pistol locked into position.

There was a great sense of satisfaction as he pulled the trigger. His rival; vanquished. The man who'd killed the only person he'd actually cared about was dead. Archer had never missed, after all.

Bang.

Now where had that come from? He hadn't shot again, had he? No, it was coming from behind him. A second, third, more shots were fired, finally Archer felt it, one graced the human section of his back. He was being fired at? By who? Who would dare attempt to kill him…? Hawkeye. It made sense, he thought. She would want to avenge Mustang's death. She just didn't understand either. Or she was so blinded by her adoration of Mustang that she didn't care what was right or wrong.

After all, Fuhrer Bradley could do no wrong.