Nightshift 24: Second M Block, Near the bathrooms and exit

[crimson_handed]

((Coming from here.))

It wasn't a long way to go before he wound up at the doors leading out of the cellblock. Kimbley couldn't quite remember what room Wesker said he was in - not that it mattered - but he knew it would still be a while. The doors had just unlocked; he wasn't expecting anything, or anyone, else to show up and recognize him for a

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[crimson_handed]

Kimbley's grin managed to stay on his face even when Greed put his hands on the floor and pushed himself up. It stayed as Greed spoke, completely doubting what the homunculus said. It fell, however, when Greed suddenly lunged up from the floor in one fluid movement, directly at him.

He leapt back, but in his newfound hurry the side of one foot caught on the other, making him stumble. As he slammed a hand out to catch the side of the wall, he realized that this one tiny detriment was going to cost him too much, and that he had to move a lot faster than he was to get away from Greed.

In the time it took him to think this, his feet had scrambled back at least another foot, but it was too little too late. Greed lunged and slammed into him, black-clawed hands (hell! he still had those, and he couldn't even start making someone suffer by touch?!) catching him and sending his flashlight clattering down the hall.

Kimbley slammed into the floor back first and immediately tried to scramble out from under Greed, not in the least bit opposed for going for the eyes to give him even the slightest chance to escape.

[grabby_hands]

Greed had the upper hand for the moment, his eyes wide and wild as he took the opportunity that Kimbley so wanted to avoid and one set of his claws grabbed the bomber's arm. The other one went for the bastard's neck, and the homunculus had just about pinned his adversary to the floor when Kimbley seemed to make a last ditch effort with his own human hands and scratch with well-kept nails at Greed's face.

Such an attack towards a homunculus might have been laughable back home, but here, it could prove a little more fruitful, if not very. Greed hissed at the desperate ferocity and shut his eyes, jerking back just far enough to allow the bomber more room to move, though whether or not he could get away was still a question up for grabs.

[crimson_handed]

It gave Kimbley part of the opportunity he so dearly sought, that slash across Greed's face. The homunculus drew back just enough for him to get his free arm (because those claws were still viciously clamped over one arm, and going harder for his neck) up against Greed's neck, and he shoved in an attempt to either snap Greed's throat or at least choke him enough to give him room.

His legs were still caught, though, as was most of his lower body. Kimbley tried bringing his knees up and shove back to no avail. Still with his forearm pressed viciously against Greed's throat, Kimbley jerked the arm caught in the carbon-clawed grip, trying to free himself from the potentially deadly grip.

[grabby_hands]

Greed coughed, at first pressing down harder with his armored hands in retaliation and then jerking backwards as he was knocked off balance in his moment of weakness. Then again, given the pitiful amount of effort that it was taking to fight back... well, in another time, on another day, Greed would have just shielded his neck and ripped the other bastard's vocal cords out of their skin.

He managed to keep enough of a hold to dig his claws in at both of the points where he grasped his adversary, and it was he felt them pierce skin that he looked up and smirked once more.

"I wouldn't... do that, if I were you."

[crimson_handed]

Shit. The claws had gotten to his neck. Now Greed, however strangled he was, had something along the lines of the upper hand. Sure, Kimbley could keep pressing and maybe he'd actually snap the bastard's neck (clearly this place was keeping Greed weak, because in the past, he never would have made it this far without seeing the entire damn shield come up), but before he could manage that he had the feeling Greed would shred his throat.

Before he'd ever gotten a chance to see Mustang, and the expression the man was guaranteed to have.

Damn it.

Still, he kept his arm right where it was, only pulling it back the slightest bit. He strained his head and neck back, trying to take as little damage as possible from those damned claws. He was in a bad spot, and he knew it - now there was just trying to find that one opening, that one damn opportunity, where he could kick once and jerk his whole body and escape those freakish hands. And not get killed in the process.

[grabby_hands]

"So," Greed grinned in the wake of Kimbley's silence, knowing there was a wall behind the bastard and claws to keep him pinned down, but wanting some kind of satisfaction before he snapped his neck. "What the hell did they offer you to rat me out, anyway?"

[crimson_handed]

Kimbley was silent for one long moment before grinning, wide and sharp and dangerous, although not nearly as wide and sharp and dangerous as Greed.

"Can't you guess?" he asked in a dry, almost bored, tone. "The only thing worth living for: the opportunity to kill."

[grabby_hands]

Greed snarled in response to Kimbley's response, not at all empathetic. Greed didn't have any qualms about killing, sure, but he figured there were easier ways to go about getting what he wanted out of those who didn't want to give it.

That is, unless he wanted someone dead, which meant that Kimbley was up one shitty creek.

"You always were a shallow ass, weren't you?" Greed growled through grit teeth, yanking Kimbley's neck up and pressing it hard against the wall. "I got you all out of that damn prison. You owed me."

Survival of the fittest or dog-eat-dog, the bastard might reply, but Greed knew it was more than that. This hadn't been about survival; it'd been about some asshole moving on to his next kick. It wasn't a sentiment Greed was unfamiliar with, but it also wasn't a sentiment that should have fucked him over.

[crimson_handed]

"You got me out?" Kimbley snorted with laughter even as his head rang with the sudden contact with the wall. "You're giving yourself too much credit. I got myself out of that hellhole. I blew the floor apart and walked away from your friends' little experiment. I could have gotten out of that prison on my own. You just sent your little pets to get those soldiers out of my way."

Normally, Kimbley wouldn't have seen any reason to validate himself, especially not to Greed. But hell, he was dead. Greed was dead. And they were both here, with suppressed abilities, neck-and-neck and looking for revenge. (Greed was, anyway.) Why shouldn't he tell the homunculus exactly what the truth was? The truth was usually more interesting than a lie, and got better reactions, anyway.

"If you look at it that way," he hissed, fingers curling into his palms, "then I don't owe you anything."

[grabby_hands]

Greed dug his claws into Kimbley's arm hard enough to pierce flesh and draw blood, yanking the man's neck from the wall and twisting the other's body towards the floor before he slammed the bomber's head into the ground.

"You owe me everything right now," Greed sneered, inwardly frustrated that he couldn't get the asshole to fear him even when so close to death. It was probably the only reason the homunculus hadn't ripped him to shreds yet--the lack of of effect he was having on him.

Then, something dawned on Greed, and his sneer widened into a smirk.

"Why aren't you using those pretty hands of yours?"

[crimson_handed]

The sharp pain in his arm was nothing compared to what it felt like when Greed rammed him, headfirst, into the cold concrete of the floor. It rattled Kimbley completely, disorienting him for a good several seconds before he managed to regain his mental footing. He swore he tasted blood in his mouth. If Greed was going to kill him, he'd better do it faster than this ...

The question was posed after the statement, and Kimbley actually fell silent (although he hadn't been making noise before, admittedly) to think about the question. Not that there was much to think about, but how was he going to answer? Well, truth always was more interesting than lies, so ...

"Like I said, I owe you jack," he said, his voice a little unsteady. "And I thought you were smarter than that. You can figure out why I haven't already blown you to bits." Although there was still that dry tone to his voice, Kimbley's facial expression wasn't as flat as before. At this rate, Greed wasn't going to hesitate to tear him open, and there was nothing he could do. "Sad to say, but I'm no longer a physical threat to you."

[grabby_hands]

"You never were a physical threat to me." The homunculus growled, digging his knee into Kimbley's leg and pressing his weight onto it to keep the bomber pinned down. "It's your goddamn big mouth that got me into this mess."

Of course, at the mention of his current situation, something occurred to Greed that his anger had kept hidden from him: The mess he was in now was a new one, a worse one, a wholly different one than he'd been in before.

And he wasn't the only one caught in it.

Something else occurred to Greed as his eyes shot back to the alchemist's, and it was that he was playing right into Kimbley's tattooed hands.

His eyes narrowed.

"It means you aren't worth shit as an asset, either."

[crimson_handed]

Suppressing a growl as yet another pain made itself known to him (this time in his leg), Kimbley clenched his jaw and ignored the various complaints his body was providing him with. Just pain, nothing important. Nothing vital had been punctured yet.

"If you think so," he hissed, fingers curling and uncurling against his palms. "But you seem to forget that I was a soldier as much as I was an alchemist. I could still blow you into a million, bloody pieces and leave you a smear on the floor ... it'd just take a little more work." He let his grimace jerk sharply into a smirk, albeit a pained one. "I didn't always have the tattoos."

[grabby_hands]

"Don't give me that crap," Greed spat, digging his claws further into Kimbley's arm as if to emphasize his distaste. "You have the tattoos now and they don't work, so how the hell is any other alchemy gonna be different?"

The homunculus may not have cared much for the hag or the teachings she'd forced upon the creatures she'd birthed, but he'd remembered enough about alchemy to know when he was being fed bullshit and when he wasn't. (Of coure, given Dante's tendencies towards lies herself, he could never be completely sure what had been real and what hadn't, but goddammit if he was going to give Kimbley the benefit of the doubt.)

[crimson_handed]

"Did I say anything about alchemy?" Kimbley asked, raising an eyebrow. "I started out with raw materials when I was six. There are other ways to make explosives than through the way you were created."

It was true, too - the first time he'd successfully made a bomb, it was from raw materials. And the explosion had nearly killed him, but that just meant he'd been completely successful. As long as you had a container, the right chemicals (most of which were easily found in a semi-domestic setting like this), and in some cases a lighter, you could turn someone into a screaming pile of flame and flesh. No alchemy necessary.

... sure, he hadn't actually used the homemade method in a long time (going on ... holy shit, almost twenty years?), but he could remember the basic principles, the easier explosives, and the resulting compounds that gave off the most dangerous blasts. And that was all that mattered, really.

[grabby_hands]

The arrogant expression on the bastard's face was almost enough to renew Greed's desire for the bomber's immediate death. However, even through the condescending tone of the words, there was some truth in them, enough to make the homunculus reflect on his sad lack of subordinates as of late.

There was Mustang, of course, but he wasn't too willing to be an apprentice... yet. There was that long-haired guy--Vincent--and Schuldig, too, but... hell, Schuldig was almost as bad as Kimbley.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, but then again, beggars didn't have to be stupid either. (And besides, Greed would die before he called himself one of those.)

"Yeah, so maybe you're useful." Greed smirked. "Doesn't mean a damn thing if you're a rat."

Still, the temptation was there, and stronger than Greed wanted to admit. Back home, sure, he'd tear the man limb from limb without a second thought, but that was because back home he'd actually be able to.