FMA [BigBang Fic]: ACIS: Central City (5/7)
Title: ACIS: Central City
Genre: Divergence, Mystery, Family
Summary: Mangaverse, divergence. Central City 1910 - 1916. Political upheaval has restructured the proud nation of Amestris to a blooming democracy, where the art of alchemy is no longer glorified, but monitored for the distrust it has sown. In this obstructive climate, Roy Mustang’s investigative team must track down a familiar face, for ties to a brutal homicide case.
Rating: T
Word count: 30.000+
Spoilers: mild spoilers for everything, which includes the new movie
Disclaimer: Everything FMA belongs to Arakawa & BONES.
Warnings: minor character deaths, bit of cussing, some gore (crime scene, not much you can do about it.)
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PART 4
Friday, April 09, 07:14 - West Area - West City - Paddington Station
Early morning rush saw its first commuters about to be on their way in West City’s recently renovated main East-West axis train station. Brusque efficiency marked the military cargo and personnel being ferried between West and Central. A small number of rich business men, who had out of town meetings with associates and current or potential investors, were overshadowed by country folk, come to attend the weekly market and sell the bulk of their wares. Finally, there were a handful of ordinary citizens, travelling to attend social occasions, and a couple of beggars from the resident ghettos, come to try their luck at gathering some meagre daily funds.
Into this bustling crowd, two casually dressed civilians blended into the scene. Winry Rockbell sat down on the bench at platform 4 next to Jean, who seemed absorbed in the latest newspaper headlines, a lit cigarette clamped between his lips.
Her posture relaxed in a mime of boredom as she relayed in hushed tones what she’d learned to her temporary partner on the case. “I had a chat with the conductors. Five trains from Central will be making a stop here in the next hour. Of those, one is a freight train that will turn around back to Central immediately after unloading. Unless our information proves false,” her tone suggested how unlikely she thought such a thing might be, “and the subject plans to disembark here in West, we can eliminate that option. The 07:38 arrival will turn north towards Rivière, the 07:44 toward North City. Both are likely options we may also discard. The timeframe we’re working with makes it impossible for the target to have obtained the proper automail replacement for the northern climate. Also, from Elric’s records, he is entirely unfamiliar with North Area and unlikely to venture there, unless he completely runs out of options. The train from 07:35 will take the roundabout track towards South City. This would be a viable option, except-”
Havoc flicked some dangling ash from the tip of his smoke. She’d reached the point where he saw fit to interrupt and strip the whole deduction process down to the core. If he didn’t add his two cenz, she might think him some dumb country hick who needed to have everything explained to him. He didn’t much care how impressive her grades might have been in CIA training, or that on this mission she technically outranked him, he was the senior field agent. “Except your informant was confident Edward would continue all the way west to one of the border towns, after ditching the smugglers’ caravan he was stopped leaving Central with. Our best bet is that he’ll transfer onto the 07:45, with its terminus in Pendleton.” Havoc turned a page of the paper. “That means we still have some time to kill. We should grab some food, Miss Rockbell. We’ll mingle and the babble of people around us will keep anyone from listening in on our conversation.”
As they abandoned the bench for more comfortable and warmer arrangements, Jean made note of one of the cloaked beggars moving from the spot the tall man had occupied for the last half hour. Maybe he was just paranoid, but either way, Jean didn’t want to risk any confrontations this early into the game.
Friday, April 09, 08:21 - West Area - Steamer train en route to Pendleton
There were only a dozen or so people in the compartment. A couple of farmers’ wives with baskets of eggs and fruits, some elderly, half blind upper-class lady - probably en route to some social event - a small family that looked like they might be refugees and a gentleman in a suit, absorbed in the daily paper. Once in a while, a bearded Xingese immigrant passed by with a reed basket of food items to sell to the peckish travellers. Edward, travelling light with only the canvas bag of emergency supplies Lin had gifted him, observed his surroundings past a jaw-breaking yawn.
Though wary about pursuit, the past virtually sleepless nights coupled with the gradual decrease of stress now that he’d left the big cities behind well and truly lessened Ed’s state of alertness. The to-all-appearances harmless civilians sharing his part of the train, along with the rocking motion of the vehicle, made Ed give in and indulge in a catnap.
No matter how well he tried to keep up his regular training; unusually trying days left his body aching more fiercely than was the norm. That tended to upset the control he and Al shared over his body. Another factor to add to his weariness was that the last shock to his automail two days prior seemed to have messed up his fine motor control and he couldn’t squander any time getting it fixed. Lin’s best lead had him following the route of some tattooed woman, whose description sounded similar to the brief glances Ed and Al had caught of their snake chimera attacker. This woman had been spotted, Lin’s spies had ferreted out, leaving the scene of Dorchette and Yoki’s murders, and caught one of the trains West. Hence, Ed was tailing the track. He would have no doubt lost the trace at West City, without the Yao clan’s assistance. As one of the bigger clan’s, they were present in Amestris Big 5 cities. One of their own was working night shifts off the books in West City’s military hospital. This person’s reports had over the past seven months reported a notable and unusual increase in predator inflicted wounds. The military clearly didn’t want to spread the news of an additional threat at one of their actively contested borders. Chances were good they suspected the Cretan army of using such a scare tactic. The fact that Creta wasn’t boosting the tactic was unsettling, though. As if both sides of the frontier campaign were raided by possible chimera attacks during the night. Backed by that reasoning Ed and Al agreed to try out the current hotspot right out on the western border, a tiny town called Pendleton.
Regrettably, neither Edward nor Alphonse could be sure if the supposedly hushed up chimera attacks were just a ruse, nor if there was any correlation with the westward bound human chimera. Or whether and if so, how deeply, the latter was involved in the recent Central based chimera attacks (Lin’s agents were good, but they were still human and mostly working with hastily reaped, second-hand information). Nonetheless, following only a day behind their suspect, towards a promising site, meant the Elrics had a good shot at finding one of chimera’s hideouts. Even if Ed screwed up somehow or Al lost his footing and an ambush did lie in wait, any confrontation would lead to additional information.
With that in mind, Ed relaxed enough to rest his eyes and aching body, just for a moment -
And tumble into a surprisingly pleasant dream about a curvy figure cuddling up to him, and then there were lips pressed to his own. Still mostly asleep, he wet his lips instinctively when the pressure disappeared. Warm breath tickled the shell of his ear. “Good, now wake up. Don’t worry; what you’ve just ingested is only a mild paralyzing agent,” someone whispered, barely audible. “It should slow your motor control temporarily, no more. Don’t be alarmed. It keeps you docile, to avoid a fuss.”
Not the exactly the kinky speech he’d expected to dream up. ‘What?’
Utterly bemused and more than a little startled, Ed’s eyes shot open to find a somewhat cute girl of more or less his own age sitting on his lap and restraining his wrists at his sides and out of view, looking no more than teasing to the casual observer. ‘The hell?! Al, please say this is your weird, secret girlfriend.’
-‘Mine? If anything, she’s your type. Snap out of it, already, whoever she is, she means trouble and we’ve got to get away from her.’- Ed didn’t need Al’s alarm as confirmation of a set-up. How dare she? He’d show this conniving bitch not to mess with an Elric. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, completely dismissing him as a viable threat, large blue eyes roaming the compartment.
“Mr. Havoc should be here with the new restraints already.” She worried soft, pink lips with her teeth. Feeling his glare, she redirected her attention to him. “My name is Winry Rockbell; I’m a certified CIA operative.” Sadly the ‘certified operative’ didn’t release Ed’s arms to flash an ID. Not too amateuristic then, Ed mused. She wasn’t so much telling him his rights as giving him field orders.
“We’re evacuating this train at the next stop and returning to Central. There you’ll be handed over into our custody, until this case has been resolved without further casualties. Mr. Havoc and I will keep you safe until then. Mr. Mustang’s team will continue the investigation, if he receives proper clearance from Director Armstrong.”
Ed seethed and made to shove her off and punch that pretty face in with his right fist. Except whatever crap she’d introduced into his system took effect with a speed like wildfire, leaving his limbs sluggish and impossibly heavy. While he managed to move them, they lacked most of his strength and all he accomplished was breaking her pincer grip on him and jostle their positions with a weak push. Ed was starting to fear that the crazy Rockbell girl had either miscalculated his body mass to consider the sedative as ‘mild’, or else he didn’t want to stick around to find out what classified as ‘knock-out’ in her books. So far, their serious drama hadn’t attracted attention yet, except from the sour old lady, seated on a bench parallel to Ed’s, giving them a disapproving glower. His left arm cooperated just enough for Ed to toss the holier-than-thou woman a rude gesture. She sniffed and turned away from the pair of them.
Ed made a silent solemn vow to castrate Havoc for his involvement in this whole stunt. He refused to be dragged back to Central City with nothing to show for himself by a weak-looking girl of all people. “Who are you and what gives you the damn right to haul me off like this? Do you know who I am?”
“I know that you, Mister Undercover Agent, weren’t sanctioned to take up this case, nor did you report your direct involvement to your handler or any other of your superiors. I’ll be surprised if they let you keep your badge after this stunt.” Winry rolled her eyes. “Although, I suppose that ACIS isn’t too concerned with fine lines and doing things by the book.”
Ed scoffed. “We produce the results the bigwigs want, that’s all that ever matters, and if you think otherwise, you’re just hopelessly naïve. Naivety will get you killed, especially with the CIA.”
Most of Winry’s attention was still on the handful of ignorant people on the train. Someone sneezed, another read a novel, and not even they old lady was paying them close attention anymore. Ed was weighing his and Al’s options for a countermove. This supposed CIA chick thought him docile now that he was incapacitated in her eyes. Okay, so, the tranquilisers she’d used were damned effective and Ed had no hope of physically overpowering her within the next hour. There was another gamble he could take, however, which just might knock her out while staying his drowsiness.
He managed to clap his hands together. Rockbell’s eyes widened and she scrabbled to get away from him. The fact she knew about Al’s undercover work - a whole other can of worms - couldn’t distract Edward from the surprise element. With a mental bark at Alphonse to stay out of it for the moment, Ed managed to hook his left leg behind her knees and draw her closer. She might be a lot faster and stronger given his current state, but caught off balance, she pitched forward into him. Envisioning an appropriately destructive transmutation circle, Ed snarled. “You really should have known better than to try fuck me over.” The punishing shock of the anklet and handcuff ran through his nervous system before discharging into the floor. Between the wooden bench Ed slumped on and the warm human body - composed of 60% water - in direct skin contact with his own, the shocks followed the path of least resistance.
Winry cried out in surprise at the unexpected nature of his attack, the pain of it wracking her body. As she fell away from Ed, he forced himself to his feet, only for his legs to fold under him. Agony radiated from both automail ports before all feeling abruptly cut off. Of all the times for the damn things to completely give out on him!
Alphonse was berating him violently. Al grabbed control to at least try to alchemically purge the drugs from their system swifter, so they could move more easily and have a hope of making emergency repairs to the conked out automail. Everyone stared now, but the center of focus shifted when the train door crashed open and panicked people rushed through, fighting to move further up to the front of the train. These seeds of discord bloomed when the cause of the sudden migration followed on their heels. A towering man with a grim expression on his scarred face limped into the train car, blood dripping from his injured thigh. More blood splattered his tanned right hand and the front of his cream-colored shirt.
Clouded red eyes found Alphonse’s own, making his breath hitch. -‘Armstrong’s hit man!’- For the first time, Al could truly believe the rumours in the slums about Misha and the awful reputation that clung to the man wherever he went. This fellow was definitely not here by accident. His eyes told the boys that the Rogue Terminator was also not here to just haul them back to Central, like the cute blonde. Where was Havoc? Al looked at the man’s leg wound and grimaced in worry. Gunshot wound, recent. Likely Havoc’s work then. Trying to scramble upright, Al cursed when none of his - rather Ed’s - limbs cooperated. Injured or not, the scarred Ishvalan clearly had the upper hand, and unless they could figure a way out of this, they were going to die!
* * *
Winry wanted to hit something, preferably the stubborn blond she was supposed to arrest, but also protect. So what if she’d used an underhanded method to trick an all but unconscious person? The end justified the means, or so Mr. Kimblee had drilled into her from day one of covert activity and assessment training. The train she and Mr. Havoc had boarded wasn’t crowded, but in such close quarters, the ACIS agent had agreed with her suggestion to act discreetly so as to prevent a panic, and she could hardly waltz up to Edward and stick him with a needle in plain view of the civilians. The charade of enthusiastic public affection had at least gone over as ‘normal if distasteful’ with the small, mostly inattentive crowd.
Winry had wasted no time in incapacitating her target painlessly and without commotion. For her first time actually using such a tactic, it went rather well, even though she hoped not to make a habit of it. She quickly wiped the mild toxin and the protective under-layer of beeswax from her own lips as she immobilised Edward’s movement and resolved to think of different methods to execute a similar operation in the future. Just because it wasn’t too bad this time didn’t mean her next target couldn’t be some dangerously insane pervert, old enough to be her grandfather. Perhaps Mr. Havoc would be willing to share a few tips from his years as a senior agent. However, Winry couldn’t help but feel as if her partner on this case was only humouring her. There was no small amount of animosity between their two agencies, but perhaps this mission could help scab over that rift, she reflected optimistically.
No time to think about it further. Winry needed to stay in the present. From her initial success on out, her smooth sailing hit a thunderstorm named Edward Elric. No matter how smart her target was claimed to be, he acted like an obnoxious jerk and somehow failed to grasp the concept of a good cover maintained for the benefit of the clueless public eye. A failure which - considering his occupation - was plain ridiculous. They both operated for agencies that were all but invisible to the general populace, at least to those with a blank criminal record. To be fair, yes, she was technically taking him into custody - something she herself wouldn’t have been thrilled at either, had their positions been reversed - but in the long run it was in his own best interest - and life expectancy - to cooperate.
Then Mr. Havoc failed to show up, which meant that either he was double-crossing her (given the hostility she’d witnessed between Mr. Kimblee and Mr. Mustang’s team that wasn’t such a far-out conclusion), or else he could have been compromised by a third party. Both situations presented a direct threat to her person, however, only the second option could lead a truly disastrous mission ending. The prospect was an awful lot of responsibility on Winry’s slim shoulders all of a sudden and during her very first solo assignment, to boot.
If Alphonse really was ‘the polite one’, then her cenz were stacked on Edward being the real ass. After she went out of her way to protect him against his own actions, and their consequences, he worked around the sedatives to attack her. An unexpected move for its recklessness that had momentarily crippled her and, as icing on the cake, spectacularly blown their just-established cover to smithereens. Winry supposed she should thank her lucky stars Edward hadn’t seriously injured her with that counterattack. She only held a carefully studied theoretical knowledge of what high calibre alchemists could inflict upon opponents. Even if, still fresh out of training, she had not yet seen Mr. Kimblee ‘in action’, she’d heard the whispers, even seen a few autopsy photographs to know fully well that the relatives of those terrorists who opposed the Red Lotus’s assignments were lucky if they had a mostly intact corpse to bury afterward.
All that aside, her situation fell outside of optimal mission parameters, and that was even before pandemonium broke out. Still a little shaky as she got her feet under her, Winry thought it was no wonder Mr. Kimblee had been so pleased to get rid of those alchemic suppressants, the device packed a real punch! Sparing her captive a brief glance, Winry surmised Edward was far worse off and in no condition to pull another stunt anytime soon, let alone run off anywhere. She’d probably have to take him to the first mechanic they crossed on their way back to Central if she didn’t want to carry him all the way fireman style. Confident enough to at least halfway turn her back on the Elric boy for the second, she redirected her attention to scan the small crowd rushing past them for hidden weapons.
Likely the threat came from the back end of the train where the rush had started. Winry had her basic disarming training and if things went south, her handgun, a snub-nosed .38, loaded yet never before used outside of training. She also ought to check on her perhaps compromised back-up, Mr. Havoc. However, she mustn’t forget that her main priority was to stick to Edward like glue. Fulfilling the mission’s prime directive was in the end all that truly mattered; that was Mr. Kimblee’s second rule. With both exit doors along the train compartment blocked by moving bodies, what were her other options? What was the best way to proceed?
Her reluctant companion cursed once more beside her. Winry would have ignored it like his previous bout of swearing, except this expletive had a desperate edge to it, making her pause in her calculation of taking a tumble out of one of the windows of the chugging steam train.
‘Danger,’ her senses screamed in response, hand going for her sidearm. Winry didn’t need to search long for the source for her companion’s alarm. Her bright eyes rested on a bloodied leg and midriff before moving up a tanned, distinctively tattooed arm to rest on a peculiar scarred face. Mr. Kimblee had mentioned Director Armstrong liked to keep Ishbalans around, but Winry had never expected to come across that person in this situation. For the first time in almost a decade, Winry stood abruptly face to face with the red-eyed demon of her childhood trauma. The recollection barely lasted the blink of an eye, but to her it seemed like hours; hours in which she was no longer the capable young woman she’d studied and trained years to become, but once again a lonely, desperate nine-year-old girl, surrounded by the screams of the wounded and dying patients of the Ishval’s Kanda region. Antiseptic was one of the few supplies the Rockbells had left aplenty in stock and so the entire house, with the ground floor serving as field hospital, smelled of it. That and smoke and, on that particular day, of something far more unpleasant. In that small world of uncertainty, pain and death, healing, despair and the odd flicker of hope, the world stopped rotating on its axis for one small girl. Frozen on the threshold of the normally off-limits surgery room, where her mom and dad lay limp and unmoving - massacred. Even Den, whose sudden alarm had caused Winry to disobey her warning to find out what was more alarming than usual, had been hurt. The dog bled profusely from a missing front paw, alternatively whimpering in agony and growling at the hysterical, larger-than-life culprit. Winry felt utterly disconnected from reality in that moment of discovery. And because it wasn’t - couldn’t be - really happening, she was soon moving toward her parents and dog. She didn’t know when the monster left, or why he spared her. Maybe it was something the somewhat nice yet bitter one-eyed woman, so different from her own granny, had said. Maybe one of the other patients had tried to help. Maybe he just left, like the others did. A few of her parents’ patients tried to convince her to leave with them; leave her family behind and run away from all the pain and death. Winry stayed after the sun set and all she did was try to keep Den alive and pray to her granny in heaven to look after her mom and dad. She stayed until after the sun had risen again and Mr. Kimblee and his soldiers came. Unlike the Ishvalans, they didn’t ask what Winry wanted. They simply covered her mom and dad with dirty sheets and took her - and Den - if only because she didn’t let go of the injured dog - away from hell on earth. During the drive between their hospital and the Amestrian base camp, several soldiers tried to comfort her, yet the only words that stuck with her were Mr. Kimblee’s. He told Winry if she ever wanted to set things right, then she should become better and cleverer then her parent’s murderer. The reality that she was alone in the world still hadn’t truly caught up with her, but that advice penetrated the shock and stayed with her.
Illustration by seta_suzume
Then time caught up with Winry. A decade had gone by, and she stood a lot taller than the day she lost almost everything, even if it was on wobbly knees. In her second of recollection, the scarred man of her nightmares had dismissed her as a threat and angled past her, toward the person she was supposed to protect. She was no longer aware of the other people evacuating the compartment. All she saw was the golden haired boy, struggling to connect a sluggish flesh hand with the completely limp automail one and not managing it in time, and the red-eyed demon. The man who had taken her loved ones away from her, who was still bleeding, vulnerable. He was reaching past her, his face set in stone, posture promising certain death to the one he’d set his sights on. Winry’s shaking hands managed to click the safety off her gun. His gaze flickered to her at last and hesitated. Winry held the still imposing figure at point blank range. No matter how fast he moved, she would hit something vital. She had to shoot him, there was no either way. She ought to shoot him. If not for justice, then simply because if she didn’t, he’d kill Elric - had probably already murdered Mr. Havoc - and she would be just as helpless as back then if she didn’t act immediately.
A gun discharged. Brakes screeched as the train lurched on its tracks. Someone had finally alerted the engineer.
Thursday, April 08, 09:36 - Central City - ACSI HQ
The atmosphere was oppressive to the point of counter-productivity. There had been a row during the earliest office hours. Not just a disagreement, a veritable commotion. Behind closed doors, mind you, despite the fact that less than a dozen people had been present for such an early hour. But one of the cleaning ladies had inadvertently overheard, and she just had to tell the other, who whispered about it with the receptionist, and as more people trickled in the rumours gained speed from that point onwards.
Mustang was looking for trouble, the whispers said. He was one of their star agents, held an almost flawless record in solving the cases he took an interest in. But now some half hushed-up case - it promised to be a big one then, Mustang always picked the more complex ones that would gain renown - had been reassigned by the Director to one of The Deadly Duo. Whatever the outcome of this whole affair, it would be big enough to make the morning headlines, or so Sheska heard from her more chatter-happy colleagues.
For once the rumours weren’t far exaggerated, Sheska guessed, judging by the grim expressions of Team Mustang as their leader debriefed to Miles, who stood self-assured and at ease, yet fully intent on all the information he was presented with. Like he was measuring the veracity of each word he was presented with carefully. That was just Sheska’s speculation, as it was hard as ever to read the former major with his habit of wearing dark glasses indoors. Not that office politics shuffling around a previously claimed case was much of her business, really. She had only observed the public deference so she would know to reclassify reports linked to this case with a higher clearance restriction. With that thought, Sheska focussed her attention on more interesting and urgent matters requiring her input, like all the records the new leader on their biggest running assignment had requested only an hour ago and expected ASAP.
Miles nodded as he addressed the team that was temporarily his. “I will only say this once: you will stop brooding and letting Elric’s interference in this case distract you, and start focussing on the crux of the mess this is becoming.” Miles addressed Mustang like just another subordinate on the team. Roy was too professional to object or show anything but an utterly neutral mask. The army had taught him early on to take orders from anyone, no matter if they were an ass or bully, and Miles wasn’t going out of his way to rub the sad state of affairs in their faces, just brusque in his manner.
“Mustang, you have been assigned an additional chore, for the record. I know you have unofficial associates by the dozens. The Xingese aren’t talking to us in an official capacity. Use whatever ties you must, but find some answers. Someone on Chang turf must have seen something. Bribe the clan leader, if you must, to make the guard chat. I don’t care how you get it done. Lose the uniform, take Hawkeye with you.” Miles wasn’t about to set one of their most dangerous agents loose in such a big, political playground as Xing Town without his handler. “You will do this after you call Havoc and have him return from ‘vacation’ earlier than planned. Unforeseen circumstances may be a nuisance, but they are also a fact of life. I’m convinced someone else will be around to enjoy the sight of all that wildlife he’s spotting.” Miles did not make idle threats. Misha was already tracking down the wayward Elric and if one of Mustang’s other dogs got caught in the crossfire that would incite, that would be a waste of an otherwise good agent.
Team Mustang ought to focus on the threat closer to base. Director Armstrong tended to take an interest into the biggest cases, the solution of which generally led to the politicians giving ACIS a bit more leeway over the years. What Mustang, with his incorrigible information hoarding habit, tended to lose sight of from time to time was that the Director had more powerful, wider spread resources to utilize. This made it easier to leave isolated, petty cases to the local teams, while Armstrong coordinated their bigger operations with both the military and local police forces. These synchronised affairs were a bureaucratic and practical nightmare, but they delivered results where local police stood powerless and the military lacked legislation to roll up the far spread illicit organisations. As such, when Dr. Knox’s COD report on the most recent chimera killing had hit her desk, Olivia Armstrong had made short work of linking the case to on the one hand to the increased sightings of ‘unnatural animals’ in the slums around the edge of Central City. The Director then went on to speculate there might on the other hand even be a financial tie to the kept under wraps reports from the west front on chimeras injuring, spiriting away or sometime killing the infantry stationed at the outpost of Pendleton. As such, Olivia had wanted to send Misha straight there. Then Mustang and his clique had started deviating from their norm, not by much, but enough for the oldest Armstrong to smell blood. From that point onward it didn’t take too many phone calls, small compensations and dire threats to find out that the often times loose cannon that was Elric, was also heading west. Misha was then dispatched post-haste to kill two birds with one stone. It also aided in Olivia’s decision to have Miles keep a close eye on Team Mustang while investigating the potential threat right at their doorstep.
With Mustang chewed out and his team made aware of the shift in authority, all that Miles had to do was pick up the reins. The Director had suspended Hughes early that same morning, but due to Kimblee’s meddling, the CIA’s ‘liaison’ - no matter how green on the field - could still throw a spanner in whatever the game CIA wanted to play with ACIS for more influence, resources and the chance to discredit the other party. However, if Miss Rockbell did manage to babysit Elric and was fully occupied with that momentous task, it left the rest of ACIS free to pursue more immediate concerns.
Miles turned back to the board on which he hung several pictures. “Dorchette’s personal history isn’t yielding much interest. His surviving family believed him to be dead four years prior to his actual murder. His mother claims Dorchette always fell in with the wrong crowd. Any leads we may have obtained from his petty crime curriculum, Sheska’s team will sift through. However, we’ve found other clues that now deceased dealer Yoki’s past. It was clear as day, once you read in-between the lines of the police reports and possess the need to know information that some of us do.” Miles paused to rankle across still open sores, even as he put up Yoki’s mug shot and drew a cross on it with a marker. “If all of you hadn’t been focussing your energy and attention on a juvenile distraction, then the director would have been able to clue you in during the first twelve hours of this investigation. We’ve found evidence to the fact that the last steady job Yoki Yonald held for any significant amount of time was that of accountant for the Thule R&D Facility.”
Breda made a few notes. “That private funded entrepreneurship, out West, that you never really hear much news or results from, despite their proclaimed mission to provide the ultimate innovation of the alchemic engine?”
Mustang looked pensive at Miles confirmation. “A quiet company the Director is suspicious enough of that you’ve gone digging and none of us regulars have been informed, you say.” He exchanged a brief look with Hawkeye and got a tiny negative gesture in reply, signalling she had been kept out of the loop as well. “Did you find out what they wanted to keep hidden?”
Miles debated how much to disclose. Given the way Misha should be closing in on his targets and how the result of the rough Ishvalan’s actions would leak to the media sooner or later, frankness on current proceedings might be called for. “We never got in. At the present, we still lack the warrant and jurisdiction. Everything we’ve learned recently has been provided by an inside source, one of their employees, a man who calls himself Lujon.” Miles pointed out the grainy picture of an ordinary man in his late twenties, and reduced the facts down to their essence. “Apparently, he wants out now that more of his co-workers get spirited away.” Two more low quality pictures got crossed off as deceased. “The facility had their pockets lined with gold, up until a couple of years ago, according to our rat.”
Hawkeye drew her own conclusion. “You suspect one of the more prominent former military persons to have been the moneylender.”
“We’ve narrowed our prime suspects down to Brigadier General Clemin and Lieutenant General Gardner.” The big shots’ profile pictures got moved to the top of the board. Miles extrapolated. “Both had plenty of affluence and possible interest in the true research matter, if their proven prior affiliation with the head of the science department, Dr. Hiesgart, has set a trend.” The photograph of the balding, gold-toothed man, took up residence right below those of the two prime suspects. “However, just because this research center’s funding might be budgeted since the bigwigs’ discharges, it would seem their current lack lies more along the lines of general resources rather than currency.”
Mustang contemplated the new intel and nodded toward a more private meeting room to continue the conversation. Miles, who had been about to suggest such a move gave Mustang a look that was a touch less frosty. Once they were the more secured area, Roy continued his line of reasoning. “These people might still have some backing in the current government, financially, if not ethically, or openly. Just what do we suspect they’re really trying to develop in this facility?”
“Though our border conflicts are at a stalemate, this status quo could change any given day. As it stands, our military now only deploys the regular troops for border patrol and surveillance. Historically, we haven’t been this weak since before the State Alchemist programme was installed. The director and a select few decorated people suspect Thule has been working, even before the fall of the old government, to make superior, special forces units through chimeric research.”
Discomfort lingered around the team after that last statement. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing the Führer King and his lapdogs might have approved of. But to think the current elected officials weren’t averse to the idea of sanctioning, or at least turning a blind eye to this sort of inhumane experimentation for the greater good, was disquieting. Mustang slipped back into leadership position with the grace of habit. “So, you are saying we need an excuse to head west and infiltrate that facility to gather substantial evidence to have them disbanded?”
To the team members’ surprise they got a negative response. “The circumstances around Thule are in motion. We don’t have to worry about their lab in the west for the present, that situation will resolve itself. The Director has already made some phone calls.” Miles adjourned the meeting. “Yet that does not entirely resolve the situation. I will be taking a more local trip into the city slums, Breda will come with. Rendez-vous here at 17:30.” They had more one direct threat to deal with, the squad read between the lines. Team Mustang geared up for action.
>>> NEXT <<<
Genre: Divergence, Mystery, Family
Summary: Mangaverse, divergence. Central City 1910 - 1916. Political upheaval has restructured the proud nation of Amestris to a blooming democracy, where the art of alchemy is no longer glorified, but monitored for the distrust it has sown. In this obstructive climate, Roy Mustang’s investigative team must track down a familiar face, for ties to a brutal homicide case.
Rating: T
Word count: 30.000+
Spoilers: mild spoilers for everything, which includes the new movie
Disclaimer: Everything FMA belongs to Arakawa & BONES.
Warnings: minor character deaths, bit of cussing, some gore (crime scene, not much you can do about it.)
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PART 4
Friday, April 09, 07:14 - West Area - West City - Paddington Station
Early morning rush saw its first commuters about to be on their way in West City’s recently renovated main East-West axis train station. Brusque efficiency marked the military cargo and personnel being ferried between West and Central. A small number of rich business men, who had out of town meetings with associates and current or potential investors, were overshadowed by country folk, come to attend the weekly market and sell the bulk of their wares. Finally, there were a handful of ordinary citizens, travelling to attend social occasions, and a couple of beggars from the resident ghettos, come to try their luck at gathering some meagre daily funds.
Into this bustling crowd, two casually dressed civilians blended into the scene. Winry Rockbell sat down on the bench at platform 4 next to Jean, who seemed absorbed in the latest newspaper headlines, a lit cigarette clamped between his lips.
Her posture relaxed in a mime of boredom as she relayed in hushed tones what she’d learned to her temporary partner on the case. “I had a chat with the conductors. Five trains from Central will be making a stop here in the next hour. Of those, one is a freight train that will turn around back to Central immediately after unloading. Unless our information proves false,” her tone suggested how unlikely she thought such a thing might be, “and the subject plans to disembark here in West, we can eliminate that option. The 07:38 arrival will turn north towards Rivière, the 07:44 toward North City. Both are likely options we may also discard. The timeframe we’re working with makes it impossible for the target to have obtained the proper automail replacement for the northern climate. Also, from Elric’s records, he is entirely unfamiliar with North Area and unlikely to venture there, unless he completely runs out of options. The train from 07:35 will take the roundabout track towards South City. This would be a viable option, except-”
Havoc flicked some dangling ash from the tip of his smoke. She’d reached the point where he saw fit to interrupt and strip the whole deduction process down to the core. If he didn’t add his two cenz, she might think him some dumb country hick who needed to have everything explained to him. He didn’t much care how impressive her grades might have been in CIA training, or that on this mission she technically outranked him, he was the senior field agent. “Except your informant was confident Edward would continue all the way west to one of the border towns, after ditching the smugglers’ caravan he was stopped leaving Central with. Our best bet is that he’ll transfer onto the 07:45, with its terminus in Pendleton.” Havoc turned a page of the paper. “That means we still have some time to kill. We should grab some food, Miss Rockbell. We’ll mingle and the babble of people around us will keep anyone from listening in on our conversation.”
As they abandoned the bench for more comfortable and warmer arrangements, Jean made note of one of the cloaked beggars moving from the spot the tall man had occupied for the last half hour. Maybe he was just paranoid, but either way, Jean didn’t want to risk any confrontations this early into the game.
Friday, April 09, 08:21 - West Area - Steamer train en route to Pendleton
There were only a dozen or so people in the compartment. A couple of farmers’ wives with baskets of eggs and fruits, some elderly, half blind upper-class lady - probably en route to some social event - a small family that looked like they might be refugees and a gentleman in a suit, absorbed in the daily paper. Once in a while, a bearded Xingese immigrant passed by with a reed basket of food items to sell to the peckish travellers. Edward, travelling light with only the canvas bag of emergency supplies Lin had gifted him, observed his surroundings past a jaw-breaking yawn.
Though wary about pursuit, the past virtually sleepless nights coupled with the gradual decrease of stress now that he’d left the big cities behind well and truly lessened Ed’s state of alertness. The to-all-appearances harmless civilians sharing his part of the train, along with the rocking motion of the vehicle, made Ed give in and indulge in a catnap.
No matter how well he tried to keep up his regular training; unusually trying days left his body aching more fiercely than was the norm. That tended to upset the control he and Al shared over his body. Another factor to add to his weariness was that the last shock to his automail two days prior seemed to have messed up his fine motor control and he couldn’t squander any time getting it fixed. Lin’s best lead had him following the route of some tattooed woman, whose description sounded similar to the brief glances Ed and Al had caught of their snake chimera attacker. This woman had been spotted, Lin’s spies had ferreted out, leaving the scene of Dorchette and Yoki’s murders, and caught one of the trains West. Hence, Ed was tailing the track. He would have no doubt lost the trace at West City, without the Yao clan’s assistance. As one of the bigger clan’s, they were present in Amestris Big 5 cities. One of their own was working night shifts off the books in West City’s military hospital. This person’s reports had over the past seven months reported a notable and unusual increase in predator inflicted wounds. The military clearly didn’t want to spread the news of an additional threat at one of their actively contested borders. Chances were good they suspected the Cretan army of using such a scare tactic. The fact that Creta wasn’t boosting the tactic was unsettling, though. As if both sides of the frontier campaign were raided by possible chimera attacks during the night. Backed by that reasoning Ed and Al agreed to try out the current hotspot right out on the western border, a tiny town called Pendleton.
Regrettably, neither Edward nor Alphonse could be sure if the supposedly hushed up chimera attacks were just a ruse, nor if there was any correlation with the westward bound human chimera. Or whether and if so, how deeply, the latter was involved in the recent Central based chimera attacks (Lin’s agents were good, but they were still human and mostly working with hastily reaped, second-hand information). Nonetheless, following only a day behind their suspect, towards a promising site, meant the Elrics had a good shot at finding one of chimera’s hideouts. Even if Ed screwed up somehow or Al lost his footing and an ambush did lie in wait, any confrontation would lead to additional information.
With that in mind, Ed relaxed enough to rest his eyes and aching body, just for a moment -
And tumble into a surprisingly pleasant dream about a curvy figure cuddling up to him, and then there were lips pressed to his own. Still mostly asleep, he wet his lips instinctively when the pressure disappeared. Warm breath tickled the shell of his ear. “Good, now wake up. Don’t worry; what you’ve just ingested is only a mild paralyzing agent,” someone whispered, barely audible. “It should slow your motor control temporarily, no more. Don’t be alarmed. It keeps you docile, to avoid a fuss.”
Not the exactly the kinky speech he’d expected to dream up. ‘What?’
Utterly bemused and more than a little startled, Ed’s eyes shot open to find a somewhat cute girl of more or less his own age sitting on his lap and restraining his wrists at his sides and out of view, looking no more than teasing to the casual observer. ‘The hell?! Al, please say this is your weird, secret girlfriend.’
-‘Mine? If anything, she’s your type. Snap out of it, already, whoever she is, she means trouble and we’ve got to get away from her.’- Ed didn’t need Al’s alarm as confirmation of a set-up. How dare she? He’d show this conniving bitch not to mess with an Elric. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, completely dismissing him as a viable threat, large blue eyes roaming the compartment.
“Mr. Havoc should be here with the new restraints already.” She worried soft, pink lips with her teeth. Feeling his glare, she redirected her attention to him. “My name is Winry Rockbell; I’m a certified CIA operative.” Sadly the ‘certified operative’ didn’t release Ed’s arms to flash an ID. Not too amateuristic then, Ed mused. She wasn’t so much telling him his rights as giving him field orders.
“We’re evacuating this train at the next stop and returning to Central. There you’ll be handed over into our custody, until this case has been resolved without further casualties. Mr. Havoc and I will keep you safe until then. Mr. Mustang’s team will continue the investigation, if he receives proper clearance from Director Armstrong.”
Ed seethed and made to shove her off and punch that pretty face in with his right fist. Except whatever crap she’d introduced into his system took effect with a speed like wildfire, leaving his limbs sluggish and impossibly heavy. While he managed to move them, they lacked most of his strength and all he accomplished was breaking her pincer grip on him and jostle their positions with a weak push. Ed was starting to fear that the crazy Rockbell girl had either miscalculated his body mass to consider the sedative as ‘mild’, or else he didn’t want to stick around to find out what classified as ‘knock-out’ in her books. So far, their serious drama hadn’t attracted attention yet, except from the sour old lady, seated on a bench parallel to Ed’s, giving them a disapproving glower. His left arm cooperated just enough for Ed to toss the holier-than-thou woman a rude gesture. She sniffed and turned away from the pair of them.
Ed made a silent solemn vow to castrate Havoc for his involvement in this whole stunt. He refused to be dragged back to Central City with nothing to show for himself by a weak-looking girl of all people. “Who are you and what gives you the damn right to haul me off like this? Do you know who I am?”
“I know that you, Mister Undercover Agent, weren’t sanctioned to take up this case, nor did you report your direct involvement to your handler or any other of your superiors. I’ll be surprised if they let you keep your badge after this stunt.” Winry rolled her eyes. “Although, I suppose that ACIS isn’t too concerned with fine lines and doing things by the book.”
Ed scoffed. “We produce the results the bigwigs want, that’s all that ever matters, and if you think otherwise, you’re just hopelessly naïve. Naivety will get you killed, especially with the CIA.”
Most of Winry’s attention was still on the handful of ignorant people on the train. Someone sneezed, another read a novel, and not even they old lady was paying them close attention anymore. Ed was weighing his and Al’s options for a countermove. This supposed CIA chick thought him docile now that he was incapacitated in her eyes. Okay, so, the tranquilisers she’d used were damned effective and Ed had no hope of physically overpowering her within the next hour. There was another gamble he could take, however, which just might knock her out while staying his drowsiness.
He managed to clap his hands together. Rockbell’s eyes widened and she scrabbled to get away from him. The fact she knew about Al’s undercover work - a whole other can of worms - couldn’t distract Edward from the surprise element. With a mental bark at Alphonse to stay out of it for the moment, Ed managed to hook his left leg behind her knees and draw her closer. She might be a lot faster and stronger given his current state, but caught off balance, she pitched forward into him. Envisioning an appropriately destructive transmutation circle, Ed snarled. “You really should have known better than to try fuck me over.” The punishing shock of the anklet and handcuff ran through his nervous system before discharging into the floor. Between the wooden bench Ed slumped on and the warm human body - composed of 60% water - in direct skin contact with his own, the shocks followed the path of least resistance.
Winry cried out in surprise at the unexpected nature of his attack, the pain of it wracking her body. As she fell away from Ed, he forced himself to his feet, only for his legs to fold under him. Agony radiated from both automail ports before all feeling abruptly cut off. Of all the times for the damn things to completely give out on him!
Alphonse was berating him violently. Al grabbed control to at least try to alchemically purge the drugs from their system swifter, so they could move more easily and have a hope of making emergency repairs to the conked out automail. Everyone stared now, but the center of focus shifted when the train door crashed open and panicked people rushed through, fighting to move further up to the front of the train. These seeds of discord bloomed when the cause of the sudden migration followed on their heels. A towering man with a grim expression on his scarred face limped into the train car, blood dripping from his injured thigh. More blood splattered his tanned right hand and the front of his cream-colored shirt.
Clouded red eyes found Alphonse’s own, making his breath hitch. -‘Armstrong’s hit man!’- For the first time, Al could truly believe the rumours in the slums about Misha and the awful reputation that clung to the man wherever he went. This fellow was definitely not here by accident. His eyes told the boys that the Rogue Terminator was also not here to just haul them back to Central, like the cute blonde. Where was Havoc? Al looked at the man’s leg wound and grimaced in worry. Gunshot wound, recent. Likely Havoc’s work then. Trying to scramble upright, Al cursed when none of his - rather Ed’s - limbs cooperated. Injured or not, the scarred Ishvalan clearly had the upper hand, and unless they could figure a way out of this, they were going to die!
* * *
Winry wanted to hit something, preferably the stubborn blond she was supposed to arrest, but also protect. So what if she’d used an underhanded method to trick an all but unconscious person? The end justified the means, or so Mr. Kimblee had drilled into her from day one of covert activity and assessment training. The train she and Mr. Havoc had boarded wasn’t crowded, but in such close quarters, the ACIS agent had agreed with her suggestion to act discreetly so as to prevent a panic, and she could hardly waltz up to Edward and stick him with a needle in plain view of the civilians. The charade of enthusiastic public affection had at least gone over as ‘normal if distasteful’ with the small, mostly inattentive crowd.
Winry had wasted no time in incapacitating her target painlessly and without commotion. For her first time actually using such a tactic, it went rather well, even though she hoped not to make a habit of it. She quickly wiped the mild toxin and the protective under-layer of beeswax from her own lips as she immobilised Edward’s movement and resolved to think of different methods to execute a similar operation in the future. Just because it wasn’t too bad this time didn’t mean her next target couldn’t be some dangerously insane pervert, old enough to be her grandfather. Perhaps Mr. Havoc would be willing to share a few tips from his years as a senior agent. However, Winry couldn’t help but feel as if her partner on this case was only humouring her. There was no small amount of animosity between their two agencies, but perhaps this mission could help scab over that rift, she reflected optimistically.
No time to think about it further. Winry needed to stay in the present. From her initial success on out, her smooth sailing hit a thunderstorm named Edward Elric. No matter how smart her target was claimed to be, he acted like an obnoxious jerk and somehow failed to grasp the concept of a good cover maintained for the benefit of the clueless public eye. A failure which - considering his occupation - was plain ridiculous. They both operated for agencies that were all but invisible to the general populace, at least to those with a blank criminal record. To be fair, yes, she was technically taking him into custody - something she herself wouldn’t have been thrilled at either, had their positions been reversed - but in the long run it was in his own best interest - and life expectancy - to cooperate.
Then Mr. Havoc failed to show up, which meant that either he was double-crossing her (given the hostility she’d witnessed between Mr. Kimblee and Mr. Mustang’s team that wasn’t such a far-out conclusion), or else he could have been compromised by a third party. Both situations presented a direct threat to her person, however, only the second option could lead a truly disastrous mission ending. The prospect was an awful lot of responsibility on Winry’s slim shoulders all of a sudden and during her very first solo assignment, to boot.
If Alphonse really was ‘the polite one’, then her cenz were stacked on Edward being the real ass. After she went out of her way to protect him against his own actions, and their consequences, he worked around the sedatives to attack her. An unexpected move for its recklessness that had momentarily crippled her and, as icing on the cake, spectacularly blown their just-established cover to smithereens. Winry supposed she should thank her lucky stars Edward hadn’t seriously injured her with that counterattack. She only held a carefully studied theoretical knowledge of what high calibre alchemists could inflict upon opponents. Even if, still fresh out of training, she had not yet seen Mr. Kimblee ‘in action’, she’d heard the whispers, even seen a few autopsy photographs to know fully well that the relatives of those terrorists who opposed the Red Lotus’s assignments were lucky if they had a mostly intact corpse to bury afterward.
All that aside, her situation fell outside of optimal mission parameters, and that was even before pandemonium broke out. Still a little shaky as she got her feet under her, Winry thought it was no wonder Mr. Kimblee had been so pleased to get rid of those alchemic suppressants, the device packed a real punch! Sparing her captive a brief glance, Winry surmised Edward was far worse off and in no condition to pull another stunt anytime soon, let alone run off anywhere. She’d probably have to take him to the first mechanic they crossed on their way back to Central if she didn’t want to carry him all the way fireman style. Confident enough to at least halfway turn her back on the Elric boy for the second, she redirected her attention to scan the small crowd rushing past them for hidden weapons.
Likely the threat came from the back end of the train where the rush had started. Winry had her basic disarming training and if things went south, her handgun, a snub-nosed .38, loaded yet never before used outside of training. She also ought to check on her perhaps compromised back-up, Mr. Havoc. However, she mustn’t forget that her main priority was to stick to Edward like glue. Fulfilling the mission’s prime directive was in the end all that truly mattered; that was Mr. Kimblee’s second rule. With both exit doors along the train compartment blocked by moving bodies, what were her other options? What was the best way to proceed?
Her reluctant companion cursed once more beside her. Winry would have ignored it like his previous bout of swearing, except this expletive had a desperate edge to it, making her pause in her calculation of taking a tumble out of one of the windows of the chugging steam train.
‘Danger,’ her senses screamed in response, hand going for her sidearm. Winry didn’t need to search long for the source for her companion’s alarm. Her bright eyes rested on a bloodied leg and midriff before moving up a tanned, distinctively tattooed arm to rest on a peculiar scarred face. Mr. Kimblee had mentioned Director Armstrong liked to keep Ishbalans around, but Winry had never expected to come across that person in this situation. For the first time in almost a decade, Winry stood abruptly face to face with the red-eyed demon of her childhood trauma. The recollection barely lasted the blink of an eye, but to her it seemed like hours; hours in which she was no longer the capable young woman she’d studied and trained years to become, but once again a lonely, desperate nine-year-old girl, surrounded by the screams of the wounded and dying patients of the Ishval’s Kanda region. Antiseptic was one of the few supplies the Rockbells had left aplenty in stock and so the entire house, with the ground floor serving as field hospital, smelled of it. That and smoke and, on that particular day, of something far more unpleasant. In that small world of uncertainty, pain and death, healing, despair and the odd flicker of hope, the world stopped rotating on its axis for one small girl. Frozen on the threshold of the normally off-limits surgery room, where her mom and dad lay limp and unmoving - massacred. Even Den, whose sudden alarm had caused Winry to disobey her warning to find out what was more alarming than usual, had been hurt. The dog bled profusely from a missing front paw, alternatively whimpering in agony and growling at the hysterical, larger-than-life culprit. Winry felt utterly disconnected from reality in that moment of discovery. And because it wasn’t - couldn’t be - really happening, she was soon moving toward her parents and dog. She didn’t know when the monster left, or why he spared her. Maybe it was something the somewhat nice yet bitter one-eyed woman, so different from her own granny, had said. Maybe one of the other patients had tried to help. Maybe he just left, like the others did. A few of her parents’ patients tried to convince her to leave with them; leave her family behind and run away from all the pain and death. Winry stayed after the sun set and all she did was try to keep Den alive and pray to her granny in heaven to look after her mom and dad. She stayed until after the sun had risen again and Mr. Kimblee and his soldiers came. Unlike the Ishvalans, they didn’t ask what Winry wanted. They simply covered her mom and dad with dirty sheets and took her - and Den - if only because she didn’t let go of the injured dog - away from hell on earth. During the drive between their hospital and the Amestrian base camp, several soldiers tried to comfort her, yet the only words that stuck with her were Mr. Kimblee’s. He told Winry if she ever wanted to set things right, then she should become better and cleverer then her parent’s murderer. The reality that she was alone in the world still hadn’t truly caught up with her, but that advice penetrated the shock and stayed with her.
Illustration by seta_suzume
Then time caught up with Winry. A decade had gone by, and she stood a lot taller than the day she lost almost everything, even if it was on wobbly knees. In her second of recollection, the scarred man of her nightmares had dismissed her as a threat and angled past her, toward the person she was supposed to protect. She was no longer aware of the other people evacuating the compartment. All she saw was the golden haired boy, struggling to connect a sluggish flesh hand with the completely limp automail one and not managing it in time, and the red-eyed demon. The man who had taken her loved ones away from her, who was still bleeding, vulnerable. He was reaching past her, his face set in stone, posture promising certain death to the one he’d set his sights on. Winry’s shaking hands managed to click the safety off her gun. His gaze flickered to her at last and hesitated. Winry held the still imposing figure at point blank range. No matter how fast he moved, she would hit something vital. She had to shoot him, there was no either way. She ought to shoot him. If not for justice, then simply because if she didn’t, he’d kill Elric - had probably already murdered Mr. Havoc - and she would be just as helpless as back then if she didn’t act immediately.
A gun discharged. Brakes screeched as the train lurched on its tracks. Someone had finally alerted the engineer.
Thursday, April 08, 09:36 - Central City - ACSI HQ
The atmosphere was oppressive to the point of counter-productivity. There had been a row during the earliest office hours. Not just a disagreement, a veritable commotion. Behind closed doors, mind you, despite the fact that less than a dozen people had been present for such an early hour. But one of the cleaning ladies had inadvertently overheard, and she just had to tell the other, who whispered about it with the receptionist, and as more people trickled in the rumours gained speed from that point onwards.
Mustang was looking for trouble, the whispers said. He was one of their star agents, held an almost flawless record in solving the cases he took an interest in. But now some half hushed-up case - it promised to be a big one then, Mustang always picked the more complex ones that would gain renown - had been reassigned by the Director to one of The Deadly Duo. Whatever the outcome of this whole affair, it would be big enough to make the morning headlines, or so Sheska heard from her more chatter-happy colleagues.
For once the rumours weren’t far exaggerated, Sheska guessed, judging by the grim expressions of Team Mustang as their leader debriefed to Miles, who stood self-assured and at ease, yet fully intent on all the information he was presented with. Like he was measuring the veracity of each word he was presented with carefully. That was just Sheska’s speculation, as it was hard as ever to read the former major with his habit of wearing dark glasses indoors. Not that office politics shuffling around a previously claimed case was much of her business, really. She had only observed the public deference so she would know to reclassify reports linked to this case with a higher clearance restriction. With that thought, Sheska focussed her attention on more interesting and urgent matters requiring her input, like all the records the new leader on their biggest running assignment had requested only an hour ago and expected ASAP.
Miles nodded as he addressed the team that was temporarily his. “I will only say this once: you will stop brooding and letting Elric’s interference in this case distract you, and start focussing on the crux of the mess this is becoming.” Miles addressed Mustang like just another subordinate on the team. Roy was too professional to object or show anything but an utterly neutral mask. The army had taught him early on to take orders from anyone, no matter if they were an ass or bully, and Miles wasn’t going out of his way to rub the sad state of affairs in their faces, just brusque in his manner.
“Mustang, you have been assigned an additional chore, for the record. I know you have unofficial associates by the dozens. The Xingese aren’t talking to us in an official capacity. Use whatever ties you must, but find some answers. Someone on Chang turf must have seen something. Bribe the clan leader, if you must, to make the guard chat. I don’t care how you get it done. Lose the uniform, take Hawkeye with you.” Miles wasn’t about to set one of their most dangerous agents loose in such a big, political playground as Xing Town without his handler. “You will do this after you call Havoc and have him return from ‘vacation’ earlier than planned. Unforeseen circumstances may be a nuisance, but they are also a fact of life. I’m convinced someone else will be around to enjoy the sight of all that wildlife he’s spotting.” Miles did not make idle threats. Misha was already tracking down the wayward Elric and if one of Mustang’s other dogs got caught in the crossfire that would incite, that would be a waste of an otherwise good agent.
Team Mustang ought to focus on the threat closer to base. Director Armstrong tended to take an interest into the biggest cases, the solution of which generally led to the politicians giving ACIS a bit more leeway over the years. What Mustang, with his incorrigible information hoarding habit, tended to lose sight of from time to time was that the Director had more powerful, wider spread resources to utilize. This made it easier to leave isolated, petty cases to the local teams, while Armstrong coordinated their bigger operations with both the military and local police forces. These synchronised affairs were a bureaucratic and practical nightmare, but they delivered results where local police stood powerless and the military lacked legislation to roll up the far spread illicit organisations. As such, when Dr. Knox’s COD report on the most recent chimera killing had hit her desk, Olivia Armstrong had made short work of linking the case to on the one hand to the increased sightings of ‘unnatural animals’ in the slums around the edge of Central City. The Director then went on to speculate there might on the other hand even be a financial tie to the kept under wraps reports from the west front on chimeras injuring, spiriting away or sometime killing the infantry stationed at the outpost of Pendleton. As such, Olivia had wanted to send Misha straight there. Then Mustang and his clique had started deviating from their norm, not by much, but enough for the oldest Armstrong to smell blood. From that point onward it didn’t take too many phone calls, small compensations and dire threats to find out that the often times loose cannon that was Elric, was also heading west. Misha was then dispatched post-haste to kill two birds with one stone. It also aided in Olivia’s decision to have Miles keep a close eye on Team Mustang while investigating the potential threat right at their doorstep.
With Mustang chewed out and his team made aware of the shift in authority, all that Miles had to do was pick up the reins. The Director had suspended Hughes early that same morning, but due to Kimblee’s meddling, the CIA’s ‘liaison’ - no matter how green on the field - could still throw a spanner in whatever the game CIA wanted to play with ACIS for more influence, resources and the chance to discredit the other party. However, if Miss Rockbell did manage to babysit Elric and was fully occupied with that momentous task, it left the rest of ACIS free to pursue more immediate concerns.
Miles turned back to the board on which he hung several pictures. “Dorchette’s personal history isn’t yielding much interest. His surviving family believed him to be dead four years prior to his actual murder. His mother claims Dorchette always fell in with the wrong crowd. Any leads we may have obtained from his petty crime curriculum, Sheska’s team will sift through. However, we’ve found other clues that now deceased dealer Yoki’s past. It was clear as day, once you read in-between the lines of the police reports and possess the need to know information that some of us do.” Miles paused to rankle across still open sores, even as he put up Yoki’s mug shot and drew a cross on it with a marker. “If all of you hadn’t been focussing your energy and attention on a juvenile distraction, then the director would have been able to clue you in during the first twelve hours of this investigation. We’ve found evidence to the fact that the last steady job Yoki Yonald held for any significant amount of time was that of accountant for the Thule R&D Facility.”
Breda made a few notes. “That private funded entrepreneurship, out West, that you never really hear much news or results from, despite their proclaimed mission to provide the ultimate innovation of the alchemic engine?”
Mustang looked pensive at Miles confirmation. “A quiet company the Director is suspicious enough of that you’ve gone digging and none of us regulars have been informed, you say.” He exchanged a brief look with Hawkeye and got a tiny negative gesture in reply, signalling she had been kept out of the loop as well. “Did you find out what they wanted to keep hidden?”
Miles debated how much to disclose. Given the way Misha should be closing in on his targets and how the result of the rough Ishvalan’s actions would leak to the media sooner or later, frankness on current proceedings might be called for. “We never got in. At the present, we still lack the warrant and jurisdiction. Everything we’ve learned recently has been provided by an inside source, one of their employees, a man who calls himself Lujon.” Miles pointed out the grainy picture of an ordinary man in his late twenties, and reduced the facts down to their essence. “Apparently, he wants out now that more of his co-workers get spirited away.” Two more low quality pictures got crossed off as deceased. “The facility had their pockets lined with gold, up until a couple of years ago, according to our rat.”
Hawkeye drew her own conclusion. “You suspect one of the more prominent former military persons to have been the moneylender.”
“We’ve narrowed our prime suspects down to Brigadier General Clemin and Lieutenant General Gardner.” The big shots’ profile pictures got moved to the top of the board. Miles extrapolated. “Both had plenty of affluence and possible interest in the true research matter, if their proven prior affiliation with the head of the science department, Dr. Hiesgart, has set a trend.” The photograph of the balding, gold-toothed man, took up residence right below those of the two prime suspects. “However, just because this research center’s funding might be budgeted since the bigwigs’ discharges, it would seem their current lack lies more along the lines of general resources rather than currency.”
Mustang contemplated the new intel and nodded toward a more private meeting room to continue the conversation. Miles, who had been about to suggest such a move gave Mustang a look that was a touch less frosty. Once they were the more secured area, Roy continued his line of reasoning. “These people might still have some backing in the current government, financially, if not ethically, or openly. Just what do we suspect they’re really trying to develop in this facility?”
“Though our border conflicts are at a stalemate, this status quo could change any given day. As it stands, our military now only deploys the regular troops for border patrol and surveillance. Historically, we haven’t been this weak since before the State Alchemist programme was installed. The director and a select few decorated people suspect Thule has been working, even before the fall of the old government, to make superior, special forces units through chimeric research.”
Discomfort lingered around the team after that last statement. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing the Führer King and his lapdogs might have approved of. But to think the current elected officials weren’t averse to the idea of sanctioning, or at least turning a blind eye to this sort of inhumane experimentation for the greater good, was disquieting. Mustang slipped back into leadership position with the grace of habit. “So, you are saying we need an excuse to head west and infiltrate that facility to gather substantial evidence to have them disbanded?”
To the team members’ surprise they got a negative response. “The circumstances around Thule are in motion. We don’t have to worry about their lab in the west for the present, that situation will resolve itself. The Director has already made some phone calls.” Miles adjourned the meeting. “Yet that does not entirely resolve the situation. I will be taking a more local trip into the city slums, Breda will come with. Rendez-vous here at 17:30.” They had more one direct threat to deal with, the squad read between the lines. Team Mustang geared up for action.
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