Chapter Text
In those days they shall say no more, The fathers have eaten a sour grape, and the children's teeth are set on edge.
Jeremiah 31:29-34
Chapter One
The photos strewn about the board room table in Central HQ's special investigations department painted a gory picture.
"I didn't think arms could bend that way." Lieutenant Breda put down one of the photographs, somewhat sickened.
"I didn't know there could be..." Sergent Fuery pushed one of the photos away from him with his finger. "So much blood."
"And from just one victim." Officer Falman rubbed his chin, observing the messy tableau on the table before him. "What sort of profile are we looking at for the killer here? I've seen stab wounds this numerous from crimes of passion, but the rest - it's meticulous, sadistic, possibly sociopathic."
"Just our luck, eh?" Lieutenant Havoc huffed, chewing on the butt of an unlit cigarette, leaning back in his chair. "Finally posted on a hard hitting case, bumped up the line to Central, and this is the kind of shit we run into, straight off the bat. Should've stayed in East City."
"Remember that one homicide, you can't say things like this never happened in East City." Lieutenant Breda shrugged, looking across the table at Havoc.
"That time was different. In Liore you could clearly see the M.O. of the killer. Religious nut harbouring delusions of grandeur, with a cathedral sized grudge against alchemists, any alchemists." Havoc gestured to the pictures with his hand. "I don't see that here. I don't see any sort of pattern routed in that kind of exploitable instability. I don't see any pattern apart from how goddamn messy they like to get their hands here."
"There is a pattern though." Fuery noted, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Three victims, all high ranking military officials, all decorated state alchemists, all of them showing p-prolonged signs of torture, grievous bodily harm prior to death, and next to no sign of a struggle." The young Sergent was proud that he only stuttered once, delivering his assessment. Trying to piece together the sequence of events depicted in these pictures would make a lesser man shudder.
"That shows that the guy has an agenda, it doesn't show instability, it shows a plan." Havoc surmised.
"Did the plan have to be that messy?" Officer Falman shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "How could something so graphic not be personal?"
Lieutenant Breda stood up from the table, looking to the adjoining meeting room to the side of the board room. "Where are the Elric brothers on the case? We need their assessment here. Whatever we can do to profile this bastard, before he takes his next victim."
"Yo, Edward." Havoc called out, his voice booming across the room. "What have you got for us? Are you coming out yet?"
"Give us a minute!" Ed's voice yelled back, the sound of metal clanging, and papers shuffling coming from out behind the door. When one strained to listen, one could hear the brothers murmuring between themselves, the scratch of pen to paper indicating progress. "If his next victims are here, then we can rule out this division."
"The Lieutenant General's guard might be ineffective if the killer is getting around the way we assume, brother." Alphonse responded, their voices muffled by the door.
"We need that map of Central's sewage system, where did I put the map?"
"It's under your elbow, brother."
"What elbow?"
"The other elbow."
"You said the other elbow!"
"I meant the other other elbow."
Havoc raised an eyebrow, looking at the door. "You think they'll be a while."
While the Elric brothers bickered over paperwork in the adjoining room just to the left, the door on the right side of the room leading out into the corridor slammed open. Colonel Roy Mustang stamped through the door, closely followed by his first lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, carrying several thick, heavy files under her arm. Riza's expression was as impassive as ever, but Mustang looked pissed.
"Breda, how are we going on the profiling. Do we have any leads yet?"
Breda snapped a salute at the Colonel, as did the rest of the unit upon Mustang's arrival. "We've still been going over the case files, sir. Profiling is inconclusive at the moment, but we're working on it."
"We need to work harder." Mustang commented. "The pressure to close this case neatly and quickly has been mounting by the second. How are the Elric brothers going, why aren't they here?"
The door to the adjoining room opened at this point, Mustang turned his head to look for Edward, but he appeared to be sitting on the floor, leaning out of the door on his elbow, waving papers in his hand.
"Don't talk like we're not here, who do you think has been piecing together research all goddamn day?"
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Mustang questioned, peering across the board table to look down at the brothers. Ed was cross legged surrounded by maps, papers, and endless post it notes stuck in a detailed array across the floor of the adjoining room. His brother Alphonse was standing, his tall armoured frame holding several maps upright for his brother. The maps were also covered with post it notes.
"I'm writing something here!" Ed gestured to the post it note carnage, an organised chaos that started climbing up the walls.
"Well stop writing." Mustang ordered. "Come out here and deliver your findings. We need everyone pouring over this information together until something clicks. You're forgetting we have a time limit."
"Lieutenant General Raven has a time limit." Riza corrected. "We have confirmation he is the next target."
All heads in the room turned to look at her.
"Intel just came in from Central Intelligence." She added, placing the thick files she was carrying on the table, opening the files and spreading out the contents. "They found Major General Harris's son's body this morning."
"Goddamnit." Havoc ground the cigarette butt down with his molars, furious. "What, was he a witness?"
"It's likely, yes." Riza continued, calmly laying out the new crime scene photographs on the table for the team to view. A clanking noise sounded from the other room as Alphonse put down the maps, and he and his brother entered the room, crowding around the table to see the new evidence, a morose expression lighting their faces.
After a few minutes wherein the group poured over the new photographs and documents, the discussion continued.
"This going after the witnesses has to be connected, but the style of murder is completely different." Fuery noted. "Precise, and quick, not so theatrical. Do you think the killer has an accomplice?"
"No." Riza replied. "Forensics identified the same pattern of stab wounds as the other victims, whatever the murder weapon is, it was used here. We're thinking that whatever the murder weapon is, it is jagged enough to make the multiple incisions with a single blow, rather than the many repeated stabbings we were assuming before."
"Has forensics had any luck finding trace elements in the wounds?" Falman asked. "If they're using the same murder weapon each time we should have found some sort of trace that can link the murders in the incisions. Maybe lead us to where one could come across such a weapon?"
"Whatever they're using, it still leaves no trace residue at the crime scene." Mustang shook his head, tapping a gloved finger to the photo in front of him, the lifeless eyes of Major General Harris' son staring blankly up. "Barring the wounds left on the victim of course."
"We haven't ruled out alchemy as integral to the murderer's M.O." Edward spoke up. "McDougal, the Freezing Alchemist, did something similar with icicles, though we could usually find the melted residue at the crime scene quick enough. Given how quickly we're finding the bodies though, it's not ice. Ice doesn't melt that fast, and if it were melted with alchemy we would see the wounds cauterise."
"How did you find confirmation of the next victim?" Alphonse asked, his voice echoing from inside the metal of his armour.
"That's the interesting thing." Riza brought one of the photos from the file out and placed it on the middle of the table. "Whatever the murder weapon is, it seems like it was wielded almost carelessly with Harris' son. One blow, instead of several repeated ones, snapping the ribcage quickly. I believe the murderer was leaving, and killed Frederick as an afterthought, upon discovering him witnessing the act. It seems the killer assumed Frederick's immediate death, and left him to bleed out. Given the positioning of Frederick's hand, it seems he was the one to write Raven's name in his own blood - a warning. Frederick was only a relatively new recruit, his attempt to warn the Lieutenant General showed admirable courage."
"And how is the Lieutenant General responding to this warning?" Breda queried, looking up from his own papers to Riza for her answer.
"Predictably." Riza replied.
"Well, you could say he's taken it to heart." Roy shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Locked himself away, has he?" Ed surmised.
"With a round the clock guard of Central's finest, to prevent the circumstances that led to the other three victims. Since the murders all happened in seclusion, away from the public eye, Lieutenant General Raven has decided he needs 14 fully trained military regimented eyes on him at all times, and he has increased his security tenfold." Roy replied.
"Wouldn't you?" Falman nodded to the pictures splashing agonising death across their tabletop. "Knowing this?"
The unit all collectively stared at the photographs, and their investigation continued on into the night.
TWO MONTHS LATER.
Two months and three more bodies later, the total death count rising to six military personnel, the situation was getting out of hand. Lieutenant General Raven was still alive, maintaining that his round the clock military escort was essential to his survival, and several other high ranking officers were benefiting from Raven's paranoia. If you were a high ranking alchemist serving Amestris under the military, maintaining a constant guard became essential, and people were scared. Not just military personnel. The papers had picked up on the sensationalist story and ran with it. A gruesome serial killer terrorising Amestris' top brass within the military. People didn't feel safe in their beds at night, knowing someone somewhere could find someone in the dark, while they were alone, and do what the papers only flimsily described.
The papers hadn't had access to the photos. Colonel Mustang's unit had, and they were hunting for this killer every day - every day discovering that whatever this was, it ran far deeper than it seemed.
The unit in question were in the office the day Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, director of investigations, came to visit, bearing bad news.
"Roy Boy! How are you my friend?" Hughes had a big personality, his warm enthusiasm filled the whole room, though the large manila folder under his arm suggested this was a visit for business, not pleasure.
"Working. We've been chasing leads on our perp for the past week. We're getting somewhere, just not fast enough." Roy replied with a slight frown.
"Well, I may have something that might speed things up for you guys." Hughes scratched the back of his neck, shrugging. "You may not like it though."
The other members of the unit looked up from their respective cubbies, putting aside the work they were doing to listen in. The Elric brothers paused their discussion by the wall to the left of the room, a wall that had been entirely transformed into a giant cork board, courtesy of alchemy. The wall was absolutely covered in information about the case, and a multitude of post it note annotations, detailing every picture, map, and mortuary report.
Anything to speed this investigation up would be a lifesaver, literally. The team had been out in the field in the past two months chasing every lead they had, and they found plenty to think on, plenty to put up on the board, but not many answers that didn't lead to more questions. Ed and his brother, as the state alchemists that were usually on point in these field missions had seen more than enough to raise questions about how deep this situation goes, more than enough questions about their killer.
Hughes looked over his shoulder, aware that he held the collective attention of the unit. He leaned close to Roy and murmured. "You've got one of those side rooms there, don't you. You should hear this first."
Roy's brow furrowed, and he stood up from his chair, looking around at his team, before nodding and leading Hughes to one of the adjoining meeting rooms. Before closing the door, Roy addressed the unit.
"As you were."
The door closed behind him.
The unit exchanged looks amongst themselves, confusion and curiosity evident on their faces.
Across the room, Edward attempted to slink across to the closed door, intent to eavesdrop written clearly all over his face.
"Brother, what are you doing?" Al asked, unimpressed.
"I just want to listen." Ed replied, inching ever closer to the door. The rest of the unit were trying studiously not to look, except for Alphonse, who was used to his brother's blatant disregard for his superiors.
"Oh yes, and the Colonel pretty much slamming the door in your face was clearly an invitation to press your ear to the door." Al sighed, watching his brother do exactly that.
"Shh, they're talking." Ed barely had to bend down to press his ear to the keyhole.
"You know those rooms are soundproof." Al would have rolled his eyes if he could.
"The keyhole isn't." Ed replied, rubbing his hands together, cackling.
If Ed were paying attention he would hear the sound of Al's armour clanking as he backed away from the door sharpish. Because Ed wasn't paying attention, when Riza grabbed him by the ear and dragged him away from the door, he howled.
"The Colonel said as you were, so as you were."
Ed's squawking protestations were silenced by the look Riza gave him.
"As you were."
"Yes ma'am."
In the adjoining room, Hughes and Mustang stood around the table in the middle of the room. Hughes put the manila folder on the table, and sighed, shooting a wry look at Roy.
"It doesn't look good. Lieutenant Generals dropping like flies is one thing during war - but this is peacetime. Whatever this is, a power grab, conspiracy, a personal vendetta, stopping it has become national priority. The council doesn't like how this is escalating."
"They're not taking the case from us are they?" Roy questioned. "We've been making progress. The investigation has been turning up evidence, we just need more time. Time and resources."
"Well, they're giving you resources." Hughes said, which should be good news, but his expression was grim. "That's the bad news."
Roy's eyes dropped to the folder on the table. He looked at Hughes briefly, before pulling the folder over to him, opening it to look at the files within. Within the file were documents, contracts, and profiles.
At the top right corner of each page, a symbol was stamped in red ink. An ouroboros. The dragon swallowing its own tail.
"Do you remember, in Ishval?" Hughes began. "Hearing about the Homunculus Project?"
Roy looked up from the papers sharply, surprised and shocked. "They're not assigning us one of those, are they?"
"What do you know about the Homunculus Project?" Hughes asked Roy, crossing his arms over his chest.
Roy frowned. He pulled out a chair and sat down, elbows on the table, one hand massaging his forehead. "About as much as anyone knows. Homunculus agents are talented alchemists, with special skills unique to espionage and combat situations. They were assigned to certain divisions in Ishval, and in other skirmishes to the north, and west. I heard about how up near Briggs a single agent took out an entire battalion of Drachma tanks just by running into them. They have abilities that most alchemists cannot attain, but they are... damaged."
"Damaged?" Hughes shifted, crossing over his arms, before he looked up at the ceiling, and sighed. "I guess you could call them that. Unfit for active duty is another phrase they use. Permanently incapacitated. Mandatorally detained. Locked up for their own good is about what it amounts to. They are... damaged."
"Wouldn't assigning a damaged operative to our case be a liability and not an asset?" Roy questioned.
"Desperate times, I guess." Hughes shrugged. "I don't like our chances without one, but to tell you the truth I don't relish having to bring one in on this. There's a reason they haven't taken the investigation out of your hands at this point. Since they are escalating this mission to include a Homunculus agent, well, onboarding one of these particular agent's is a bit of a double edged sword."
"Babysitting duty, is it?" Roy smiled wryly. "Whatever unit is assigned a Homunculus operative also bears the responsibility for their actions I take it?"
"No." Hughes explained. "The military long gave up assuming a Homunculus agent would accept or bear any responsibility for its actions. When I say 'damaged' I don't just mean it in the sense that one might be damaged after seeing too much in the line of duty, of bearing those scars. These agents don't think like the rest of us. They're almost inhuman, lacking remorse, like blunt objects. They've been treated as a weapon by the state for so long, for years, generations even, if you'll believe some of the stories. It's uncertain if they were weapons before, or after the military found them. The unit that is assigned a Homunculus operative wouldn't simply have to be responsible for them - they are required, by contract even, to control the operative."
Mustang flicked through the folder. "I take it there's a contract for us in here?"
"A very exacting one." Hughes nodded. "I've seen the typical contract for 'leasing' one of these operatives. There was one assigned to clean up in Ishval, if you'll remember."
The moment of silence between them was remembrance of exactly that. The carnage, the slaughter of Ishvalan citizens was so prolific, on such a wide scale, that a Homunculus operative was assigned to dispose of the bodies. Roy wasn't sure what kind of alchemy they used. The bodies of the citizens didn't even make it to a landfill, instead they were piled up and annexed, a gruesome towering mass, evidence of their genocide there one day, then gone overnight. They didn't burn them, Roy would have caught the scent on the wind. They were just gone, devoured by the war, not even buried with dignity.
There were rumours that they called in a special operative for that. Though Homunculus operatives back then were just rumours. The rumour that circulated the army barracks was that they called in their special agent, code-name Gluttony. It was said he had an appetite for such things, and the horror at the thought of a person who wouldn't flinch when confronted with such carnage, who would instead specialise in it, inspired campfire tales to scare the new recruits, until no one was sure if Homunculus agents weren't just ghost stories, or whispers on the wind.
"I saw his contract. Code-name Gluttony would have been about a Level 2 Homunculus operative. I don't know who had the clearance to authorise this, but the paperwork here says they've assigned you a Level 7."
"So on a scale from one to ten?" Roy queried.
"The scale only goes up to seven, unfortunately. Whoever they've assigned you, you'll have your hands full."
Roy exhaled, and rubbed his forehead, before he started looking through the file Hughes had given him in earnest.
"They've really sprung this on you actually." Hughes scratched at his beard while Roy read. "Once the team has been briefed you'll be escorted to the third laboratory to collect your operative from the holding cells."
"Holding cells? So we are to cart about an incredibly skilled felon, is about what this amounts to?"
"The only reason leasing out one of these agents is legal is because they're classed as a controllable weapon, technically."
"Technically." Roy shook his head and continued reading. "It mentions here that the operative will be installed with apparatus. What does that mean, they're giving an unstable agent a gun?"
"The agent is the gun." Hughes leaned over Roy's shoulder, finding the correct paper in the folder and pointing to the diagram. "That's the apparatus. It's like a tracking device, with safeguards."
"And the safeguards are for?"
"For your own protection. In case you need to incapacitate your operative."
"Incapacitate them?" Roy laughed, though he seemed more tired than amused. "This just gets better and better. So it's assumed that we will have a need to incapacitate our own agent. Are they that uncooperative?"
"The contract likes to anticipate a lot of things. Hopefully some of the clauses are irrelevant."
Roy squinted at the final pages of the contract. "We have to sign a waiver?"
"Standard legal procedure for leasing out one of these bastards."
"In case of an individual's death at the hands of leased Homunculus operative, the individuals, as signed below, waive any and all legal action against the military of Amestris, in accordance with the honourable discharge, and funeral proceedings as provided by the Amestran government et al." Roy read out.
"Like I said, we are hoping those clauses will be irrelevant." Hughes chuckled.
"And the whole team has to sign off on this?" Roy scoffed, scandalised. "I can't ask them to do this. We're supposed to invite a potentially lethal agent into our unit, and just hope that whatever they do that makes them a Level 7 weapon, they do pointed away from my team? What kind of assurance does that give us that this isn't just us taking on a bigger problem than our mysterious serial killer out there?"
"The assurance is the safeguards. The apparatus. Unpleasant as it is, according to the scientists from the third laboratory, the apparatus is a sufficient deterrent against any bad behaviour on behalf of your operative."
"God, and they call us dogs of the military." Roy rubbed his forehead, nursing his growing headache at all of this. "I don't know what's more disturbing, that they practically trained these agents with the threat of punishment from this thing - or that there was a need for these safeguards as a deterrent in the first place. I don't want to know what kind of precedence brought that to light."
"Neither do I." Hughes pulled a chair out next to Roy, and sat down. While Roy poured over the papers, Hughes kicked his feet up and watched, answering questions where they cropped up.
It was a long time until they emerged from the adjoining room, and by the time they explained to the team a somewhat edited version of exactly what the protocol would be for handling their newly acquired operative, it was just about evening.
Once the unit had discussed the ins and outs of this new acquisition, and they had all signed the contract, every last one of them, the moon was hanging in the sky, and stars were out. It was a pleasant, balmy night, all things considered, and when Major Armstrong arrived to escort the unit to the holding facility at the third laboratory, the tension that the team felt couldn't possibly be in the air.
But it was there, nonetheless.