Berserker

Decisions

He traced his fingers down the generous curve of her hips, feeling the skin swell and pop with the tiny explosions he created. Such a glorious feeling.

She struggled against him, pushing with her graceful little hands. He'd blow those off later. She made a gurgling sound; good thing he had already blown her jaw off, or else she'd be making a real racket. Now it was something between a whistle and a whine.

Red eyes pleaded up at him, and he granted what she wanted. It was what he was after, anyway.

He clapped his hands together and brought them down hard on her abdomen, and then threw her to her feet. She stumbled out into the street, half alive, fully a bomb.

Yes, just how he loved his women.

He watched with a predatory smirk as she shuddered and exploded.

"Ahhh…such music."

He never understood the others and their morals. Why were they State Alchemists anyway, if they didn't enjoy the kill? It was the only reason he had joined, wasn't it, so he could do it legally. And, boy, was it wonderful.

"Sir!"

Kimblee turned to the young solider hurriedly making his way over to him through the rubble. He toyed briefly with the idea of turning this one into a lovely little projectile, but decided against it.

For now-After all, he might have something fun to tell.

The solider saluted breathless and pink-faced.

"Sir, I have a message from the base"

Kimblee nodded absent mindedly, wondering if it would be more practical to blow off the arms first or the legs. Decisions, decisions.

"You are wanted by the Iron Blood Alchemist. He has asked that you reported to him immediately."

No, one arm first (easier to grab), THAN legs. Disable, then have fun. Perhaps blow the kneecaps to bits, or start at the ankles and go piece by piece-

"Sir?"

The pink-faced solider looked at him curiously. Kimblee's palms burned.

"I will report to him immediately. Tell me…do you report directly to him, or are you just part of the regular infantry?"

"I am part of the regular Army sir-"

Oh goody!

"-But the Colonel has asked me to do a sweep of the area and report back to him once I was done."

Damn. Just like ole' Basque too…must have known…

Kimblee dismissed the solider and strode back to base camp. Just like the Colonel too, to send in a man Kimblee couldn't…play…with. Bastard; he ruined all his fun.

"So, Major? How was your mission?"

Kimblee threw a salute at the Colonel.

"Oh, fine, fine…sir."

Basque Grand sighed.

"I see you've removed your uniform…again."

"Too restrictive…and pompous."

Kimblee replied flippantly, eyeing with distaste the manner Basque kept his own uniform. Basque Grand was known for being inordinately proud of his uniform.

Kimblee shook his head and smirked.

"So, what did you want me for, Colonel?"

The Iron Blood glanced up with an annoyed look.

"I'll show you when the others get here." With that, Basque Grand waved him away, and Kimblee slouched over to a pile of crates, reclining on them. He instantly began to fiddle and fuss with his tattoos on his palms, inspect his fingernails, generally fidget and twitch. He could never, ever sit still for very long.

That drove my grandmother nuts, he thought with a twinge of annoyance. He glanced over at the colonel, feeling another pang of irritation. Why was he here? Why was he called away from the battlefield? Away from the only thing he loved? Was Basque Grand stupid? He was alone with the Crimson Alchemist! Bastard probably thought he was invincible. Kimblee stared hungrily at the back of the Colonel's head.

Invincible my ass.

No, no, he had to behave himself. He wanted to find out what was so special. Besides, the Iron Blood let him have his fun-most of the time. Who knew who they would get in his place. Probably someone boring and rule abiding and-

"You called for me sir?"

Crystal Alchemist, Tim Marcoh, stepped through the door, carrying a small wooden case under his arm.

Whaddya know. Speaking of dull…

"Did you bring it?" Basque Grande inquired lazily, but Kimblee noted a strained note in his tone.

"Yes, but-"

"But what?"

At that moment, Major Roy Mustang stepped quietly into the room and took his place next to Marcoh.

Flame Alchemist

Kimblee eyes flicked over him. His powers were so close to his own and yet, did he utilize them? No.

How boring. Why I am here again?

"Sir, I cant let you have them."

Kimblee eye's snapped back to Marcoh.

Have what?

Basque Grand continued to flick over reports that he had been looking over before, not bothering to answer. Marcoh hesitated, waiting for the colonel to respond, but receiving none.

"I just can't sir; why I can't…"

Marcoh hesitated again.

Kimblee let out a soft sigh and went back to picking his nails.

"Why?!"

Marcoh began violently, still eliciting no response.

"Why? Because of their doctrines the Isballans have neither alchemists nor up to date weaponry. Want them to demonize us even more? Do you think that's a long term answer?"

Marcoh glared over the desk to his commander. But Basque Grand was not a man to be easily swayed. After a short pause, the colonel repeated-

"Did you bring the materials?"

Marcoh nodded unhappily.

"I did Colonel, but their still under research-and like I told you, we don't need them!"

The Colonel flicked his papers in annoyance, growing irritable.

"Have you not seen the reports? The resistance is growing!"

"That's because your excessive use of force is creating sympathizers! Its easier for the Isballans to recruit the other tribes!"

Kimblee laughed softly from his corner, startling the other two alchemists.

What is he doing here? Mustang wondered, not believing that neither he nor Marcoh even noticed him.

"What're ya trying to say, that our fuhrer's great cause is unjust?"

He blew imaginary dust from his fingers and smiled at his outstretched hand, making sure to tilt it just enough to show the designs etched into is palm.

See that, Major Flame? I don't need gloves.

Basque Grand rustled his papers, returning the men's attention to himself.

"We've lost several thousand men-the civilian casualties are well beyond that. The whole country is unstable." He glanced meaningfully at Marcoh, the first time since the older man had entered the room "This isn't a humanitarian summit, this is war."

Marcoh drew back at Grand's words. Kimblee stood and moved to the end of the desk, watching the action with interest.

"Now turn them over, Crystal Alchemist"

Marcoh's shoulders slumped slightly, but made no move to relinquish the box and its mysterious contents.

"That's an order"

Marcoh sighed, and placed the box on Grand's desk with a soft clunk.

The box swung open, revealing red, viscous liquid in little vials. Kimblee gasped in surprised delight.

Philosophers Stones! Real, live, honest stones! Imagine the fireworks…

Kimblee could have kissed Marcoh at that moment, but he found he couldn't take his eyes off the stuff. The Colonel, stood, revealing his massive size, and took up one of the bottles in his hands. Kimblee felt an inexplicable surge of anticipation as the Iron Blood held the vial aloft.

"Dominance in a bottle, men, alchemic augmentation! Its my job to end this war quickly and with this" he bunched his free hand into a fist. "I can!"

Marcoh just bowed his head, wrapped up in whatever personal battle he had against the stones. Kimblee didn't understand him. Mustang just stood there, staring blankly at the red stones. Kimblee didn't understand him either; then again, he didn't understand most people, because most people live by rules and moral codes. Not him, no.

He didn't like being restricted.