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

[crimson_handed]

There was blood dripping down his arm at this point. It was pooling on the floor under him and staining the sleeve of his shirt. Normally, he wouldn't have cared - blood was blood, it was red, it meant everybody was going to die the same way regardless of who or what they were - but he knew that if he lost too much of it (and the fact that Greed had five carbon-edged claws digging into him at the moment), he'd start losing coherency. And damn it all, but he wasn't going to let that happen.

"So what if I'm a rat?" Kimbley let himself smirk again, wider than before now that the pain was fading out of his immediate attention. "You knew I what I was when you found me, and you still trusted me enough to show me exactly where your skull was. Doesn't make much in the way of an argument for you."

[grabby_hands]

The mention of his skull and the betrayal it had entailed jolted Greed's priorities back into their proper order.

The homunculus' sharp teeth clenched together as his eyes narrowed. He tightened his grip and shifted his weight, keeping one knee on Kimbley's thighs as he slammed the other one down on his left arm.

No matter what Kimbley could offer him now, he'd screwed him over and left him to die, sold him out for some cheap thrills. Greed didn't want him as an ally. He wanted him to fucking pay.

Greed took his blackened hand from Kimbley's neck and grasped the bomber's wrist with it instead. He took his other hand and pulled it from the wounds on Kimbley's arm, blood spilling as malice took hold of Greed's shadowed countenance.

"You really like your hands, don't you?"

[crimson_handed]

Fuck!

Kimbley's arm throbbed to life as Greed slammed one knee down onto it, effectively pinning it against any and all attempts to free it (and maybe breaking it, he wasn't sure). He was swept with a minor wave of relief when those claws left his throat, and again (only with a slight pain) when they slipped off of his injured arm. (Great. Now they were bleeding more.)

But all his pain, all his irritation, all his smug arrogance vanished in the face of Greed's newfound grip and that single, innocuous question. His smirk fell and against his will, Kimbley knew (just knew) that his face had turned to an expression of half-panic, half-anger. And just a little bit of point-blank terror.

"Don't even try it," he snarled, immediately attempting to wrench his arm free and when that failed, clenching his hand into a fist. "I swear it, if you so much as touch them, I'll wrench out your eyes in your sleepHe didn't doubt that Greed would do it. The homunculus shouldn't doubt that Kimbley wouldn't follow through with his own threat, either

[grabby_hands]

Greed wasn't really a sadist. He wasn't really maladjusted either, or a psycho, or irrationally whiny and evil like the rest of his brethren tended to be.

He did take what he wanted, though, regardless of the consequences for himself or other people. He liked his plots to end up being easy enough on everyone, but civility wasn't something too high on his list of priorities. At the end of the day, sure, Greed would beat up a couple of kids for his own benefit because Greed didn't let anything stand between him and what he wanted.

And yet, some pompous bastard had"You don't fuck me over, Kimbley." Greed smirked with the kind of half-sane glint that came to his eyes when he indulged too fully in his sin. "You just don't

[crimson_handed]

Kimbley was fighting the whole time - struggling to wrench himself out from under Greed, or at least get his hands somewhere inaccessible - but when it came down to it, when Greed actually got his wrist flat and his fingers away from his palm and dragged his claws across the thirteen-year-old tattoo there, his entire body came to an agonizing halt.

It wasn't the pain that bothered him, because there were much more painful things in the world than having your hand cut up. And he'd experienced plenty of them. No, it had nothing to do with the cuts and the blood and the future thoughts of infections or amputations. It was that his hand - one of his two greatest weapons, the creations he'd spent nearly his entire life perfecting - was completely and absolutely ruined. Half of the best, most dangerous weapon in all Amestris and it was destroyed.

A strangled almost-scream of rage struggled to free itself from his throat, but even in the throes of agonized rage, Kimbley still had his pride.

"I'll kill you!" he snarled, his voice

[grabby_hands]

The deed was done, and through the bomber's desperate struggling and yelling, Greed felt a hell of a lot better than he had before. The smug satisfaction in the face of Kimbley's helplessness was short-lived, however, as the alchemist managed to wrench his injured arm from Greed's grasp

[proud_king]

[from here.]Bradley didn't long wonder if he'd meet any of the other "patients" tonight. In fact, he'd barely had time to decide just what was wrong with his physical condition before he became intimately aware of the struggle going on at the end of the hallway. One voice and face he recognized, and the other

[crimson_handed]

"I'll rip every part of your body into pieces!" snarled Kimbley, still too caught up in the throes of rage to realize that in his current state, that probably wouldn't be possible. (He was strong, yes, but not strong enough to rip off someone's arm.) He continued struggling and trying to tear apart whatever part of Greed he could get hold of - which was quickly put to a pause when his arm was caught and his body was slammed back into the cold, hard, and now very bloody floor.

He was about to try and wrench his other pinned arm free, the one that had sustained no damage, when a semi-familiar voice cut into his rage-fogged mind. Still with a snarl on his face, Kimbley looked around wildly, trying to see who it was. When his eyes landed on the nearby figure, it took him a few moments for the recognition to set in.

The Fuhrer.

He was here

[grabby_hands]

Greed was doing a good job keeping Kimbley at bay where he could, but that was before a calm and commanding voice broke through fight and caused them both to search for its source.

Greed's violet eyes darted away from the bomber, though his grip remained strong. The hall was dark and though the homunculus could make out the third man's figure and the vague lines of his face, he didn't recognize him as someone he knew particularly well, at least not in this light.

"I'm busy," Greed growled, and though the nonchalance with which the newcomer had spoken was unsettling, it wasn't enough to distract him from the situation at hand. Kimbley struggling underneath him was getting old and tiring as was, and with grit teeth, the homunculus brought his fist back and slammed it into the alchemist's jaw.

[proud_king]

Bradley cocked his head slightly to the side, non-plussed. He should have expected that reaction from another homunculus, though Bradley hadn't sensed any recognition from him. That too was expected

[crimson_handed]

The punch came hard, and Kimbley's entire head rang with the blow. Pain exploded in his mouth along with blood, flooding it with the taste of iron and copper. Greed's fists were already stronger than any normal human's; coated with a thick, black layer of solidified carbon, they were deadly. He supposed it was fortunate that this place had sapped the homunculus' strength.

Regardless, Kimbley was completely dazed and almost on the brink of unconsciousness due to that hit. He wasn't quite there when the Fuhrer abruptly yanked Greed off of him and hauled him upright, pinning him against the wall with one fist and keeping Greed at bay. It was with unfocused eyes that he looked up at his former highest-commanding officer and smirked, blood trailing down his chin and staining his teeth faintly pink.

"I don't forgive," he muttered, trying to regain his footing as the pain throbbed in the back of his head. Focus. Either get back your control or die at the hands of a homunculus in front of the Fuhrer. That would just be embarassing.

[grabby_hands]

Greed was taken aback literally and figuratively as he felt a strong hand grip the collar of his embarrassing grey uniform and haul not only him but his quarry upwards.

No surprise that it was the same weirdo as before, and now that he was closer, Greed found that the man looked familiar, eerily so, though he was sure he'd never met him before.

Wait, the eyepatch--Greed's eyes widened, then narrowed at the man's revealing that he knew his identity, and more, his sad history. It didn't take long for the homunculus to put one and two and three together--newspaper clippings and spying revelations, as well as Dante's murmurs of future plans while he'd been in the hag's employ--and he finally gave a crooked grin as he realized just who--and what--this man was.

"I'm not friendly with traitors," Greed spat through a wide sneer, "or with that bitch's dogs."

[proud_king]

Bradley had never had the pleasure of meeting the Shield's fist, but he could easily imagine the damage it could do, and Kimbley must have been impressively determined not to lose consciousness. Still, he wasn't exactly firm on his feet, and Bradley continued to hold him up by the collar. Despite the soldier's obvious lack of loyalty, he would be valuable to Bradley, provided Bradley could gain some collateral for dealing with him. He preferred not to allow his extermination just yet