Thanks to everyone who has read this story and to those who are still following it!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot(will only be stated once).

Edited chapter 1 (04/2013)

"Are you sure they're in there? Feury says there's no sign of movement from either side of the building." came Havoc's skeptical voice over the ear piece as the small team of soldiers looked across the street from three separate locations. Though unable to assist in the confrontational portion of the evening, the recovering Second Lieutenant was currently back at Headquarters, prepared to send more troops should the situation turn south.

"Yes." Roy grumbled for the umpteenth time that night, trying to keep his temper in check as he stirred his coffee a little fiercer than was necessary. Why was it people always questioned his judgment? It wasn't right!

"And the point of a sting operation is to remain undetected, Havoc! Enough with the radio chatter!"

Warrant Officer Falman, sitting next to the alchemist, wasn't surprised by the sudden speaking that cut through the otherwise vacant diner like a sneeze during a funeral. He probably would have been if wasn't wearing an identical earpiece that kept him apprised of the conversation. The two were sitting in a coffee shop, the only other person inside being the proprietor who had been informed of the basics of the situation: dangerous fugitives lived down the street, and the military was going to nab them. His discretion was being greatly appreciated on both a personal and financial standpoint.

Though, it was best for the soldiers to keep the deeper details of the situation to themselves to avoid a public panic.

Roy groaned and rubbed his temples, trying to abate the coming headache he could feel throbbing just beneath the surface of physical sensation. He knew it was a futile effort, but he was nothing if not persistent. Or stubborn, as certain persons might see fit to dub his unwillingness to give in to inevitable situations. His team had been tracking the trail of a pair of serial bombers in the city for the past week. They had already done all the investigating, and he and his men—and a woman, of coarse—had finally reached the end game.

Or, at least Roy hoped it was the end game. These men had caused enough damage as it was.

Two brothers, Lester and Marcus Trubit, were a pair of ex-military bomb squad specialists. They had deserted after the siege on Central command three months previous and had been silent for most of that time.

Apparently, their third brother, the youngest named Payton, had been killed during the assault against the homunculi. It made sense that they put the blame on the military for the unfortunate accident, but that didn't excuse their actions.

Their targets up to that point had included just about any government building they could get their hands on, even the mailing offices. They had struck five buildings thus far, and there had been 26 casualties in total with many more left severely wounded, some left with injuries that would never heal. It was safe to say the military was pouring as many resources into the manhunt as possible. That included one Roy Mustang and his accredited team of investigators, Roy hadn't informed his superiors that he would be going into the field personally for this one; colonels weren't technically supposed to do any sort of field work except to check out the occasional crime scene or participate in matters of a more sensitive nature: say the military's hunt for Scar. Anyone ranked Colonel or above usually operated from behind the scenes unless it was a national emergency—say a political uprising.

When asked of their current progress earlier that day by a higher ranking officer, Roy had lied and said they were close but were still in the process of tracking the brothers down. In reality, he and his team had found the pair's exact location: the run down building to which they now sat across from in an older section of town. The roads in this particular area were even too narrow for vehicles, making roadblocks an impossibility.

The alchemist hadn't lied because he wanted his team to receive all the credit for taking down the fugitives. No, he did it because, with people like these brothers who were only out for revenge and thus held no actual goal to achieve, the instant they saw the military coming, they could blow their own building, likely taking civilians in nearby buildings with them. Go out with a bang, as it were. Anything to keep the very focal point of their rage from getting to them and putting them behind bars—worse if they fought back.

If the rest of the military had been brought up to date, the situation would have been handled in just such a fashion, battalions of soldiers sent in to subdue the targets. They would clear the buildings farthest from the brothers first and move inward, trying to save as many people as possible from the coming conflict. But, the people closer to the brothers' base of operations wouldn't have been so fortunate.

So, Roy opted for the tactical approach: move in silently and take the enemy out before they had a chance to respond.

Instead of battalions, it would be five soldiers carrying out the task. Five soldiers who had been involved in covert operations, even if one still had little field experience, in the past and knew how to handle them. From down the street, they had eyes on both the front and rear of the building; Second Lieutenant Breda and Master Sergeant Feury respectively.

An eye witness had seen two people entering the building earlier that day, though he had fortunately had no idea who the brothers were. That information and a description of the pair was all the soldiers needed, though. The brothers were in there, and they would know if one of them left.

Now they were simply waiting for the Hawk to make her nest, and they would strike.

Riza Hawkeye rounded the building, donned in her covert tactical attire—a black turtle neck, black cargo pants tucked into her black military boots, and a black hood to conceal her bright blonde hair. An XM21 sniper rifle was strapped to her back, issued to her personally, and a small waist pack was strapped to her belt, filled with ammo and other items of potential necessity. Seeing the desired third floor window, second to the last with a woman sitting in front of it, Riza hurried over. Looking down, the woman saw the lieutenant and waved, unnecessarily letting her know she was in the correct place.

"We don't have any rope or a ladder." the woman informed the sharpshooter in a hushed tone, and Riza held up her hand, silently telling the woman it wasn't necessary.

Without pausing, the guns expert moved over to the drain pipe, the one less visible from the street, that spanned the building's height and began scaling it. Taking sure-footed steps, Riza climbed, making sure she didn't put too much strain on the rain gutter that was certainly not built for such a task. In less than a minute, the sharpshooter had reached the third of four floors and placed a hand on the window sill next to her once it was within range. It was good she kept in shape, or the previous step and the one that was to follow would have proven most difficult.

Quietly and efficiently, the blond then moved sideways from one window to another, holding her weight with only her hands to keep herself as close to the building as possible in order to assure that any people inside or out did not see her. She soon enough reached the second to last window, but she had to pause as a couple walked by down below, stilling her movements so as to avoid detection. Causing a public disturbance was not something that would aide the team's current mission.

Bracing her toes against the wall to stop her swaying, Riza waited. The couple was dressed as one would expect, and they gave the military Lieutenant no reason to believe they were up to anything nefarious. Chatting fondly to each other with hands intertwined, they soon passed by.

They didn't see her hanging from the window sill above. She was a trained professional when it came to remaining unseen. It was true, this particular brand of stealth did not come in handy very often, but it still had it's notable uses.

Amazed, the woman inside the apartment stepped back as Riza hoisted herself up, grasping the upper window frame, and silently lifted herself in legs first. She set foot in a study, a rather simple room containing a few modestly filled bookshelves and a slightly cluttered desk to write at.

"Hello again, Miss Riza." the woman, Hailey Brithe, greeted kindly as she extended her hand. She was about Riza's age, possibly a couple years older. Her dark brown hair was tied up, and she was dressed in formal evening attire. After all, it had been preferable that this family make plans for the night so as to make their presence scarce.

"Likewise, Mrs. Brithe." Riza replied as she politely shook the extended hand.

"Whoa!" came an exclamation from the doorway, and both women turned to see a young boy, nine years old, with owlish eyes and mouth held agape in awed shock. He too was dressed in nice dinner clothes, and his dark hair was slicked to one side. "That was awesome! We're way high up, how'd you do that?" A ghost of a smile came to Riza's lips at the boy's enthusiasm.

"Practice." This simple response seemed to inspire even more awe in the boy.

"Does that mean yould you do that last time you visited us?"

"Yes, but there was no need to then." the sharpshooter answered evenly.

"Jack, Miss Hawkeye needs to get to work now, so she can arrest the bad men across the street." Hailey said as she joined the boy at the doorway, and he nodded in understanding, even if a little saddened at the prospect of cutting the conversation short. He certainly seemed as though he wished to ask more questions, especially about the sniper rifle that sat comfortably on Riza's back if his eyeline was any indicator.

A man Riza recognized as Hailey's husband, Geoff, happened to walk in at that moment, fixing the tie on his suit.

"Has she arrived yet?" he asked upon entering, but when he looked up and saw Riza, he realized the question was moot.

"Ah, Lieutenant Haykeye. It's nice to see you again." he greeted politely, and he too shook her hand in greeting before turning to his family.

"Are we ready to go?" He received affirmative nods from both. "Okay, then we'll get out of your way, and you can set up in the room next door." The sharpshooter nodded as she followed the family out of the study.

She had met with them the day before, the day the team had found the bombers' location. Riza had explained that the military would be arresting two men across the street the following night, but had made sure to keep the sensitive information that the men were the widely known bombers under wraps. If that information spread, there would be a panic, and the deserter brothers would know the military was on to their location.

Fortunately, the married couple had known better than to ask, and their son was too young to realize there was more to the story.

The Brithes had agreed they would wait in their apartment until she arrived and would then take their son out to dinner. Though, they only agreed to not tell their neighbors to go out for the night as well once Riza assured them that the military would make it their priority to protect them before arresting the brothers. She had no intentions of breaking this promise. It was what the military was made for; to protect the people from threats both foreign and domestic. By taking up her gun, Riza too had vowed to shoulder that responsibility, and it was not one she could ever see herself breaking again.

Jack had been at school for most of the conversation. Upon returning, though, he had asked who their guest was. Once told Riza was in the military, he'd begun asking her many questions about her job: what did she do, had she ever saved anyone, had she ever shot anyone? Most of the inquiries had become rather common for the sharpshooter to hear, but she wouldn't be surprised it if he himself would consider joining the military one day.

When the young boy had been told he would be aiding the military in a top secret mission, he had eagerly accepted the task of keeping Riza's presence in their home a secret, snapping to attention and giving his best rendition of a military salute as he afforded a resolute "Yes, ma'am!"

Back in the present, Riza opened the door to the aforementioned room where she would be stationed for the evening. Noting the lights were already off and the window had been left open, per her requests, the sharpshooter entered. Quickly standing with her back to the wall next to the window, she glanced outside. Down below, she watched as the Brithe family exited the complex. She thus waited until they had turned the corner at the end of the street. If one of the brothers actually managed by some happenstance to see her through the window and started shooting, the trio could possibly get injured if they were any closer.

Once the family vanished, the guns specialist sprung into action. Riza quickly crossed the room and cleared the narrow, four foot long table, gently placing the objects previously resting upon it on the ground. She then moved the table, lifting it slightly to make no noise by sliding it across the wooden flooring, until it was in line with the open window, about a foot of distance between them.

She then unstrapped her waist pack, set it on the table and opened it. Inside was the necessary essentials any sniper's nest needed: a bipod, a suppressor/flash hider, sniper rifle cartridges, pistol mags, and a few emergency items. She had three pistols on her as she ever did, two at her waist and one secured in her left boot, and a combat knife was hidden in her right boot. Those, however, were only for backup, in case some unwanted personnel were to enter the apartment with her. With the use of a multifunctional tip, it would be more difficult to locate her position by either the sound of her rifle or the flash of the shot itself. The close quarters of the older street would also help with the sound, creating a tunnel echo effect that would keep her efficaciously hidden.

Attaching the suppressor and clipping the cartridge into place with the usual click, Riza grabbed the bipod out of the pack and laid on her stomach on the table. Attaching the bipod and placing the sniper rifle into position, the stock resting comfortably against her shoulder, the sharpshooter looked through the scope, checking that she had a clear view of the necessary windows and adjusting her sights for the relatively short distance.

"I'm in position, sir." Riza then said quietly into her earpiece as she settled onto the table, just as confident as she had been the day before in her choice of location for the coming assault. Yes, she had chosen a good angle on the building. There was little inside that was not visible to her.

"For the last time, yes! I'm sure they're in there!" Roy all but shouted into his earpiece, just about ready to rip the Second Lieutenant limb from limb despite the issues of proximity and actual physical capability; Havoc was lucky he was sitting comfortably back in HQ or he may have actually had a mind to attempt the task anyhow! "Breda and Falman found this location, and I'm sure they have their facts straight!"

"But, look at how run down it is. Who in their right mind would choose to put their base in there? The building looks like it could collapse at any minute." Havoc protested in a last ditch attempt to end the operation, no doubt looking at a photo of the building in question given his lack of any psychic abilities.

"For the last time, get over it Havoc! I'm sure she's fine with rescheduling!" Falman, sitting next to Roy, cast him a strange sidelong look at this.

"That's easy for you to say, Chief! You got the use of both your legs! I can still barely stand! I was lucky to get the first date, and now she's got a chance to change her mind!" Roy face-palmed, a helpless groan reverberating through his ribcage.

"Havoc, if this woman is vain enough to dump you because you're still in physical therapy, or even if you were still paralyzed, than maybe she's not the right girl for you."

"The right girl? Since when does that have anything to do with. . . Wait. . . Are you saying I should think about settling down?" The incredulity was clear in Havoc's voice, and Roy paused.

". . .I don't know. . . Maybe it would be good for you." he finally admitted as he rubbed his neck awkwardly; this conversation had taken a very unusual turn very quickly.

. . .

"Who are you? What have you done with my playboy boss?" Havoc's voice was suspicious, and Roy's expression turned irritated as he nearly growled into the earpiece. The thought of settling down had never been an off-putting one, though the opposite certainly was.

He just. . . had yet to reach the point where it would be an open possibility.

"I'm in position, sir." Hawkeye's voice suddenly sounded far louder in his ear than it probably had in reality.

Roy straightened in his chair, his mind taking that phrase to mean something else entirely after his last train of thought, and he felt his face grow a little uncharacteristically warm. Shaking his head quickly to dispel the thoughts that began worming their way inside, the alchemist cleared his throat and stood, removing his coat to reveal the tactical uniform beneath, all black in color.

It had been a long time since he'd worn this.

"Are you alright, sir?" his second-in-command asked in his ear, her voice sprinkled with concern if one knew where to listen for it. Which Roy did. It made him smile.

"Yes, I'm fine." he said, flawlessly able to keep the fond tone from his voice as he walked to the diner's exit. "Men, take your positions!"

It was time to get down to business!

"Sir!" With that affirmation, the four soldiers on the streets exited their perspective concealed locations, all dressed in similar garb to their leader. Each one moved quickly and silently down the street, keeping close to the buildings that neighbored their target to remain relatively undetected in the shadows.

Luckily, there was virtually nobody else out at this time of the night, so there would be no one put in direct danger. The soldiers stacked up at the front door, preparing to breach the compound with Second Lieutenant Breda taking point.

Roy glanced up at the building, trying to get any glimpse as to what was going on inside. Alas, he saw nothing and huddled close to the wall once more.

"Any ideas where they are?" he whispered into his earpiece to their eyes in the sky, and he waited patiently for a response. A few seconds passed before he received one.

"I can't see them both, but one brother is on the second floor, third window from the left. It's Marcus Trubit. It looks like it's not finished yet, but he's made another bomb, sir." Hawkeye said in warning, and Roy swore under his breath.

That meant no fire. Grudgingly, he took a pistol from a holster on his lower back, keeping his gloves well concealed in a pouch on his person.

With a quick nod to Master Sergeant Fuery, the young soldier hurried forward and knelt in front of the door. Ah yes, lock picking. It was a no-no if a civilian did it, but a soldier knowing how to break into locked locations was just a-okay! At least, if you asked the military it was. Though, Feury was probably the most trustworthy out of all of them to have the skill. Well, no. Falman was trustworthy too. And definitely Hawkeye.

Okay, maybe it did make sense that the skill was taught to some of the military officers; those who would never abuse the skill even if it could lead to a break in a case. It certainly came in handy in situations like this, though.

Soon, the lock gave a tell-tale click, and Fuery nodded to the three soldiers in his company. They nodded in return and all pulled on their tactical masks, hiding their identities from their soon-to-be aggressors. With that, Fuery stood to the side of the door, and Breda took point once more as the three soldiers entered the building. The youngest officer remained outside in the potential case that anyone got by the others and took off for the exit.

Breda, Falman, and Roy moved forward through the dark, run down building, watching their step as the old wood creaked dangerously beneath their feet.

Most of the second floor had collapsed and was now in pieces on the first floor. The little that remained of the second was currently above the soldiers' heads, held up by a few support beams that had yet to fall prey to the elements. The only light in the otherwise lightless room came from the moon and the lamps in the street, streaming in through the windows to cast elongated shadows on the floor.

Probably would have been a good setting for a horror film.

After a quick scan around the room, Roy found nothing that would indicate anything was wrong. Communicating with what he personally liked to call 'tactical sign language', he told Breda and Falman to search for the second brother, Lester, while he dealt with Marcus on the second floor. Both subordinates nodded and turned to move. The trio made it a couple of feet, too.

That was when a crack sounded just a breath after a window shattered, and a man on the far end of the room screamed. From behind a large piece of rubble, he collapsed, holding his injured arm as a large knife slid away from him.

None of them had even seen or heard him! How had Hawkeye-

No, never mind. Dumb question.

"Nice shot, Hawkeye." Roy complimented into his earpiece—even working with her for years, he was still astonished by her skills. This venture had been rather simple, much simpler than he had anticipated. Now, all they had to do was head up to the next floor and subdue Marcus, and they were good to go. Job comple-

"That's not the brother, sir!" Riza's urgent words interrupted his mental victory dance, and Roy paused a moment for his shock before snapping his attention back to the man on the floor.

Sure enough, this man was not Lester Trubit. That could be nothing but bad news. Sensing danger, the three dark-clad soldiers immediately brought their sidearms to eye level, each scanning anything and everything they could see.

None of them noticed the large man that had crept up behind them.

"Death to the military!" A huge construction hammer was brought down, and both Roy and Falman had to dive to the side to avoid being crushed by the massive weapon. Falman and Breda raised their guns, fingers on the triggers and ready to fire.

"No, don't shoot!" Roy placed his hand on Falman's sidearm, a finger jamming the hammer to keep if from igniting the gunpowder in the waiting bullets. The Warrant Officer's eyes went wide as he paled.

"What? Why not?!" The big man raised the hammer again, and the officer paled even farther.

Breda swore before holstering his weapon and throwing himself forward. The construction hammer was dropped heavily to the ground, somehow not crashing through the unstable flooring by its shear weight, as it's wielder was tackled backwards.

Standing, Roy whirled around when he heard more footsteps. He came face to face with ten more assailants that had appeared as if they had been ghouls waiting to show themselves, all holding swords or knives—one of them had an ax of all things—but no guns. Roy knew the Trubit brothers wouldn't have any problems getting guns off the black market, but he also happened to know why there were no firearms present.

"Gas." was all he said to Falman and Breda, and the new better than to question him on this. The spark of a gun going off could lite the whole place up, and they would all be well in range for the blast to vaporize them or at least blow them into unrecognizable chunks of charred meat and fibers.

As the ten new assailants approached, Roy holstered his own weapon with a snarl. Damned bombers! The first man swung his sword downward, attempting to cleave the alchemist in two. Roy swatted the thick bladed sword aside by the flat of the blade, and punched the man in the face—these guys clearly had no real combat experience aside from the possible odd street fight or two. The military colonel then jabbed the man in the throat and kicked him in the chest. The man landed hard on his back, coughing violently as he rolled over, probably to try and get up, but the solid blows had left him well staggered.

The next assailant had a knife, and he charged at Roy with a feral battle cry. The alchemist ducked under his wild slash, lifted him over his shoulder by is shirt, and slammed the man into the ground, swiping the knife from his grip for good measure. Child's play.

"Finish them!" he ordered Falman and Breda, who was then standing next to the alarmed Warrant Officer, cracking his knuckles in preparation as he eyed the stunned thugs in anticipation to the easy stress outlet. The bigger man he'd been fighting was lying unconscious a few feet away, bleeding from both the mouth an nose from the beating he'd taken. Roy tossed the newly acquired knife to Falman, who nearly dropped it in surprise, and turned towards the stairs against the right wall that would lead him to the second floor landing. Sure they could handle themselves against simple street rabble, Roy bounded up the steps as the two other officers entered the fight bellow. Another crack and scream signaled another had fallen to the "Hawk's Eyes".

What the alchemist found on the second floor, though, made him halt in his step, eyes wide as he observed what was before him.

Marcus Trubit sat casually in a chair, a lighter in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. Three oil drums sat next to him, along with an incomplete detonator with its loose wiring and disconnected timer. It was not, however, these oil drums that put a halt to the alchemist's charge. No, it was the container of gas seated so casually on the floor at his feet, hissing as air escaped from the nozzle, and the lighter in the man's hand that made Roy stop to contemplate his next move.

Marcus Trubit looked him up and down, though whether he was disappointed or, less likely, intimidated, the military colonel could not tell.

"You're calling the shots. That must mean your the famous Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang." the deserter said as though he was simply making small talk, and Roy took the bowie knife from his belt. "I've been waiting."

Tauntingly, he began flipping the lid of the lighter open and then closed. Click, click. Click, click. Roy ground his teeth together, casting a brief glance to the hissing tank of gas.

". . .What do you mean?" the alchemist asked as he removed his mask; if the man knew who he was, there was no point in wearing it. Marcus shrugged in a noncommittal fashion. Click, click.

"Irrelevant." he droned as he observed the lighter in his hand, absentmindedly taking a sip of whiskey. He then stood, and Roy tensed in anticipation. "What does matter is that we are now at the end of our game. I must say, I'm impressed." He set the glass down on one of the oil drums. "You've had the case for a week, and already you and your lackeys come to knock in my front door." The man laughed here, as though truly impressed that his opponents had played the 'game' so well.

Roy was hardly amused. He held the knife at the ready, eyes occasionally shifting to the lighter as Marcus continued to flip it open and closed. Click, click.

"I've been looking for the perfect way to go out with style, and blowing a military Colonel to bits seems to be just the way to do it, don't you think? The irony of your title as Flame Alchemist simply makes it all the more amusing." Roy didn't respond, but he did peek over the man's shoulder to the building behind him.

"The sniper you've positioned. One Riza Hawkeye if I'm not mistaken. . ." Marcus paused here, gauging Roy's reaction to this statement. What he got was a narrowing of the Colonel's charcoal eyes as they flashed dangerously, the alchamist's lip curling into a subtle snarl he couldn't suppress.

Marcus grinned a twisted sort of grin.

"I don't believe she would risk taking a shot if you were also in the line of fire. Third floor, second window from the right." Roy's fists clenched, his knuckles no doubts whitening beneath his gloves with the pressure added.

So, they had known. Marcus's grin widened.

"No, I don't believe she would."he reiterated, confidently positioned directly between Roy and his faithful lieutenant.

When the alchemist's foot twitched, ready to move to give her a shot, all Marcus had to do was hold up the lighter, and he froze again, nearly growling in frustration as his grip on the knife in is hand tightened.

"Ah, ah." the bomber said as though scolding a child, and Roy's scowl intensified. Marcus flipped the lighter open. "Don't even think about moving, or you and your men become nothing more than charred flesh mixed in with the decimated rubble of this building. Must I even mention those in the buildings around us?"

Roy cursed under his breath. This man seemed to have thought of everything beforehand, right down to the placement of where they would be standing. But, now what was his plan? Was he going to demand the opportunity to leave, threatening to blow the building if they did not comply? Or would he simply blow it anyway? If he'd known about their plans ahead of time, he'd have been more than capable of fleeing, so option two seemed to be the most likely.

And Roy was helpless to do anything in this little game. As useless as a bishop locked behind a line of pawns. He hated being useless!

A click in his ear indicated the comm channel had been turned on, informing him that someone on his team was about to speak to him. The sound was more than welcome if that person had a plan.

"Don't move, sir." came the unmistakable voice through the ear piece.

It took every ounce of Roy's considerable willpower to resist the urge to shift his scowl to a smirk—damn how much he used the blasted thing! The egotistical bomber before him had clearly underestimated the insane level of accuracy his right-hand woman possessed. She could probably have hit a shot glass—pun intended, of course—off of Roy's head in that moment with little to no trouble.

Assuming he had a shot glass on his head, of course, which would have been strange.

Marcus looked to the lighter in his hand once more.

"It's too bad too." He sounded almost whimsical. "A little birdie told me you have quite the initiative prepared. How sad the military will never get to know your ideals." He gained a curious air about him.

"Tell me. This has nothing to do with what we were just talking about." Yeah, 'we', Roy scoffed mentally, ignoring the fact that he'd said only four words through the entire "conversation". "But, does it feel ironic to you as well?"

The alchemist was confused at this, his brow furrowing slightly to show it, and the man smirked. "Why, to die by the very thing you are best known for manipulating against others, of course?"

Roy's eyes widened.

Marcus raised the lighter, prepared to flick the flint roller. Roy swore time slowed for that split second, the man's sinister smirk frozen in place as his thumb moved like molasses to ignite the lighter.

Death by fire, huh? It was a rather poetic way for him to go, if Roy had to admit to himself.

Just not today!

The window behind Trubit shattered as the telltale crack of a gunshot sounded, and Marcus screamed in pain, dropping the unlit lighter to the floor. The bullet that had gone through his hand—seriously, she'd shot him in the hand?!—had barely missed Roy's head, cutting a few strands of hair as it passed and just barely avoiding grazing his ear. After the shock of the events had passed, the Colonel finally released the breath he'd held in his lungs.

He knew he could count on her.

Roy then charged forward without another moment's hesitation and snatched up the lighter before Marcus could reclaim it, hiding it away in a pocket as he grabbed Marcus by the collar of his shirt. He forced the man back into the chair he had first been sitting in, sheathing his bowie knife at his belt.

"How do you know so much about my team?" he demanded, but the man simply glared at him, holding his injured and bleeding hand close. Clearly, the situation was only amusing if he had the capability of setting off his bomb. "Was this next bomb meant for us? . . . Tell me?!"

All he received was silence. It seemed unlikely that Roy would be getting any answers from Marcus tonight.

Then turning his attention to his surroundings, the alchemist realized that all he was hearing in the entire building was silence. Taking out a pair of handcuffs, he cuffed the Marcus's injured hand to the arm of the chair, just to spite him, and hurried over to the stairs.

"What's the situation?" he asked as he saw Breda and Falman lining up all twelve assailants against the wall, all alive and bound with either handcuffs or rope. Breda stood straight and looked over the men, an action he seemed to have repeated several times before by the anxious glint in his features. Expression grim, he returned his attention to his superior.

"None of them are the other Trubit, sir."

Jaw set, Roy turned, a nauseating pit forming in his stomach. Especially once he took in the pleased smirk that had again set into Marcus's features. Eyes flashing dangerously once more, the Colonel closed in on the man.

"Where is he?" the alchemist demanded, but the man simply stared him down. "What? Did having a hole blown in your hand make you deaf?" Roy lifted the man by the collar of his shirt, giving the man a personal close-up of his snarling visage.

"Sir!" Breda protested as he and Falman joined him on the second floor.

Roy ignored him, though. These men had blown up five buildings, killed nearly thirty people, and could have been aiming for his team next! He wouldn't sit idly by because a lawyer wouldn't like his methods or timing of interrogation. Lester was still out there, and so were all the materials he could ever need to make another bomb!

The livid Colonel's eyes were locked with the much calmer ones of Marcus Trubit.

"Where is Lester Trubit?" Marcus gritted his teeth at the jarring pain going through his injured hand, still cuffed to the chair, when Roy shook him. At first, it didn't seem as though he was going to respond, and the alchemist felt an itching sensation in his hand.

As though it wanted to snap.

"Why don't you ask that pretty little blonde soldier of yours?" the deserter asked darkly, a malevolent grin twisting his lips.

Roy's heart gave a lurch, and for one moment, everything else fell away. It was as if all the sound in the room had been sucked out, leaving only the pounding in his ears.

No. . .

Marcus sneered, undoubtedly pleased to see his words had struck a cord within his enemy.

"I'm sure my brother is acquainting himself with her right about now."

No!

Roy's grip on the man's collar tightened, teeth clamped together and pupils constricting with fury. The only other time he had felt a level of rage boiling inside him worse than in that moment was when he had finally ran down Envy, the thing that had murdered his best friend and been the cause behind the Civil War that had torn this country apart.

But, the sudden image of his lieutenant's throat being cut open by a failed 'Bradley', immediately turned that rage to an almost paralyzingly fear. Almost.

Because he wouldn't let that happen again!

Roy dropped the deserter and turned. He would get to his Lieutenant in time! He had to!

But, his charge was brought to an abrupt halt when the window behind the group shattered, forcing him to shield his eyes from the shards of glass that rained down.