Hakuro had sent a messenger to tell him the news rather than coming himself. Clearly he wasn't stupid. Roy Mustang knew that if the bastard himself was within his sight, he wouldn't remain alive for long. Any number of guards around him be damned, they wouldn't get in his way. Roy couldn't care less if their bullets riddled his body as well. He would make the Sergeant General pay. He would atone for his sins.

Still, when Roy was told the news, he lost himself for a while. He raged, fists swinging widely at the young Warrant Officer who told him the news through a teary and trembling voice. The Warrant Officer had pulled out his gun and fired a few shots into the plastered white wall behind Mustang's head in self-defence. Roy Mustang froze, his eyes wide.

Then the tension broke. He slumped forward as though all the strength had left his body. He didn't care if the bullets missed him. In fact, he wished he was hit. He wanted pain to be inflicted on him. He deserved it. Maybe physical torment would help distract from his emotional anguish.

It has to be a dream. No, a nightmare. Riza wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead. She is my queen, and my only anchor in the maelstrom of an imploding Amestris. God damn it, I can't do it alone. I can't possibly carry on without her by my side!

And that was how the officer had left him. Kneeling on the floor, tears running down his face and dripping on to the floorboards. His shoulders so slumped he looked broken. And a tight pain in his chest, a difficulty breathing. Roy remained this way for a long time. Too long. Time didn't matter anymore, not when his light was gone, and all hope for a better future extinguished.

When Roy came back to himself and slowly returned from the abyss of denial and shock, he screamed. In a delirious rage, he stood and smashed all the personal effects in his apartment. Dressers, side tables, couches (even the clock that Riza had helped him pick out on a shopping trip to Central's market) ended up overturned and splintered. Sparks flared from his ignition gloves. He grunted and howled, tears making it difficult to see. He stumbled into walls, collecting bruises. Pots and pans flew from closed cupboards, books fluttered everywhere, their pages curling to ash when they touched his bare fingers.

He wanted to leave his apartment, to make the general pay. But, for his madness, he knew that Hakuro would have set up patrols in the neighbourhood to prevent him from trying anything. The man was well guarded. He had planned this well. The fucker was probably amused when he thought of Roy struggling to reach him.

In the meantime, his rage demanded to be felt. He reached for the next object in his way to smash, but Roy's hands closed on empty air. Breathing heavily he finally noticed the destruction surrounding him. Startled, his mind realized that he was running out of things to break.

All right then. What to destroy next... why not his own bones? Roy reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his ignition gloves. Before he could think clearly he brought his right hand up to his face, fingers tensed and ready to snap. He extended his left arm and pulled back the sleeve of his jacket. The bare pale skin gleamed. Roy snapped and brought his hand down, searing his own flesh.

When his comrades found him, he was crumpled on the floor.

"Roy!" The woman ran from the front door that her companion had kicked in a few moments ago towards the inert body. She grasped Roy's shoulders and shook them. His head snapped back and forth. He wasn't responding. He didn't seem to be breathing. Her eyes filled with tears.

"No, stop!" her companion ran up behind her and gently took Roy from her arms. He laid the body down on the floorboards, moving it a little to the side to avoid the pool of blood and other fluids. He stared at his friend's closed eyes. The room smelled like boiled blood and burned fat. He struggled to fight off his nausea. What the hell had happened here? The place looked like a war zone.

"Oh my god, he's still breathing!" his companion shrieked and recoiled. "Also, his foot just twitched!"

The man gasped and looked at the former Colonel, his gaze intent, searching. Now he detected the steady rise and fall of his chest. He put his ear to Mustang's nostrils and heard his weak breath.

"You're right. But he's badly injured. We have to take him to the hospital."

"No state-run hospital is going to help him."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you listen to the radio?"

A pause. "I know... the Hawk's eye... it's just so hard to believe."

At the mention of his former Lieutenant, the man looked down at his fellow soldier. Oh. So Mustang had heard about her death. That would explain the disastrous situation. But even if he wanted to die, Denny Brosh wasn't going to let him. Not until he had gotten his vengeance.

He turned to Maria Ross. His companion. The easy smiles had long since left their faces, and their hollow eyes still bore the ghosts of what they had seen.

"It's not too late. I know other hospitals where he can be treated. Bradley's successors might have Dr. Marcoh by now, but I know that Dr. Knox is still working underground. If we can get him there, we might be able to save him."

"Does he want to be saved?" Maria asked quietly. But she still helped Denny carry the badly-injured Mustang to the car they had driven here. She wasn't sure if she should be hoping it was already too late. The man had already suffered so much. She just hoped that he wouldn't be angry at them for finding him if he never intended to be saved.