Chapter 35 The Invitation of Sin
Major Armstrong arrived at the site with a firm stride, tension etched into every muscle of his imposing frame. His eyes swept across the cell quickly, assessing the scene as if he expected to find the remains of an explosion or a body on the floor.
"Is there a problem, McDougal?" he asked in a serious tone, heavy with restrained threat, ready to act if necessary.
Isaac took a deep breath. The anger still coursed through him, but he made a conscious effort to restrain it. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, his voice sounded tired.
"There's no problem, Major Armstrong," he said. "I was just leaving."
Armstrong studied him with suspicion, searching for cracks in that answer that came too quickly. From his seat, Kimblee remained motionless, wearing that irritating calm that seemed to defy all logic. Isaac turned halfway and began walking toward the cell door. Each step felt heavy, as if he were moving away not only from Kimblee, but from his last chance to obtain clear answers.
Before he crossed the threshold, Kimblee's voice reached him.
"Forget that conspiracy, McDougal."
Isaac paused for barely a second. He did not respond. He kept walking, and the sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Major Armstrong frowned and looked at Kimblee, clearly confused.
"Conspiracy?" he asked.
Kimblee smiled indifferently.
"Nothing important, Major."
Armstrong hesitated, but decided to let it go. It was not the first time Kimblee had said unsettling things with absolute naturalness. He sat back down beside the improvised table and resumed the handicrafts. The metal and resin figurines waited to be painted, lined up like small, silent soldiers.
"Is Isaac all right?" Armstrong asked as he carefully dipped his brush.
Kimblee watched the figurine in his hands. Crimson red slowly covered its surface, like blood sliding over miniature armor.
"Ishval," he replied simply.
Armstrong's brush froze midair.
He said nothing. He couldn't. He remained silent and continued painting, though his hands were no longer as steady as before. In that shared silence, too many memories accumulated—too many names neither of them dared to speak.
Hours passed without further incident. When Major Armstrong finally took his leave, he did so with a stiff bow and a forced smile, promising to return soon. Kimblee watched him go with a calm, almost grateful expression. The prison returned to its usual stillness.
A few hours later, the bars opened again.
This time, it was not Armstrong.
A mid-ranking military officer stood before the cell, documents in hand and posture impeccable. His uniform was perfectly fitted, his face bland, easy to forget. Too perfect.
"I request to speak with the prisoner Solf J. Kimblee," he said firmly.
Kimblee raised his gaze and observed him for a few seconds. Then he smiled.
"Drop the act, Envy," he said casually. "It's not necessary."
The "officer" blinked. His expression cracked like shattered glass, and in a blink his face changed. His features grew sharper, more arrogant. His eyes gleamed with malice.
"How annoying," Envy replied. "It's never fun with you."
"What are you doing here?" Kimblee asked, leaning against the wall. "You don't usually take strolls through military prisons."
Envy smiled, tilting his head.
"I'm here to give you a free pass."
Kimblee raised an eyebrow.
"A free pass?"
"Exactly." Envy stepped closer. "We need you to eliminate some evidence for us."
Kimblee let out a small laugh.
"Us?" he repeated. "And who exactly is 'us,' Envy?"
The homunculus crossed his arms, clearly pleased by the question.
"I'm a homunculus," he said bluntly. "We have a plan. A big one. And our Father… wants you out of here."
Kimblee lifted a hand, interrupting him.
"Don't give me details," he said calmly. "They're irrelevant."
Envy looked at him in surprise.
"You're not curious?"
"No," Kimblee replied. "Your purposes have nothing to do with me. I don't fight for ideals, nor for gods, nor for mysterious fathers." He smiled. "I just want to stretch my legs for a while."
Envy studied him silently for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.
"You're incredibly honest for a human," he said. "Fine. You don't need to believe in the plan. Just do your part."
He stepped closer to the cell and lowered his voice.
"There are records, witnesses, alchemical remnants that shouldn't exist. Places where the war left traces someone might start following." His eyes gleamed. "We want them gone."
Kimblee closed his eyes for a moment, imagining clean, precise explosions. Absolute destruction without a trace.
"And what do I get in return?" he asked.
Envy smiled maliciously.
"Freedom. Temporary, of course. But enough for you to have some fun."
Kimblee opened his eyes.
"That sounds reasonable."
"And besides," Envy added, "some of those traces are connected to Ishval."
Silence fell again.
Kimblee tilted his head, thoughtful.
"They always lead back to Ishval," he murmured. "It seems no one wants to let that place die."
"Because it hasn't finished burning yet," Envy replied.
Kimblee smiled broadly.
"Then I suppose I'll accept."
Envy snapped his fingers in satisfaction.
"I knew you would."
The bars opened with a metallic click. For the first time in a long while, Kimblee stepped out of his cell. He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and let out a soft laugh.
"Tell me, Envy," he said as he began to walk. "Who do you want me to erase from the map?"
Envy followed him, his smile widening.
"Anything that can still talk."
And somewhere, far from there, the pieces began to move.
(End of the chapter)
Thanks for the power stones Azazel