Appraising the Damage

[Guest]

Every act you have ever performed since the day you were born was performed because you wanted something.
Andrew Carnegie

Central City, the embodiment of Amestrian progress. A shining jewel from which knowledge and civilization has bloomed for the past six hundred years. Despite the troubles that plague the country's borders, Central City seemed to always remain a stalwart bastion and hope amongst the country's citizens. While it has not always been safe, Central was always home to the Amestrians, a place where order could be established even in the most troubled times. Even one hundred years ago during the Mustang Coup, Central quickly healed its wounds and life continued on. This has left Central soft, untouched by the most horrific faces of war. That is...until just recently....

Tatters and dust, the City Imperishable, the City Central was on its final knees, a shadow of its former self. Like a great beast’s dying throes, it had seemed that day as though the City itself shuddered in its agony, crying out its death knell in the pained and fearful shrieks of its citizens. It was no longer a place of vibrant life and safe haven, no longer a place of order and law, no, Central was now the rotten corpse of the corpulent Behemoth and its citizens were writhing blind maggots, either crushed by its weight or merely cannibalizing its body for a semblance of life. Judgment day had come and passed, and Central had been found wanting…

~~~~~

Pitiful… The single word seethed with venom and disgust. So this was how Central handles its threats now, by not even putting up a good fight? It was sickening how lax this newest generation was, how underprepared they are for the nightmares that wait just beneath the surface. Was it all just a game to them now? Playing soldiers to put on a good show? Ha! This was a travesty, a mockery, someone somewhere must have been having a very good laugh at the state that the world was now in. This scowling, ancient man, however, was not laughing….
Through the ragged and sinkholed streets, the old man was wheeled quietly by his ever faithful nurse, traversing ditches and crags without a misstep. Not seen in public for nearly a decade, this appearance of this man was like an omen, a sign that Central really had reached its low point. War had already come raining down on Central, was this old withered creature, brimming with hate and bile, the next agony to be suffered? Was he a modern day Famine or even Pestilence, here to weigh the fate of Central?

The ancient man reached carefully into an inner jacket pocket and removed a small note pad and a pen, his hands working quickly and concisely despite his age. In the looming silence of the destroyed city, the scratching sound of writing echoed off ruined walls, amplifying the noise to an omnipresent droning like a flight of locusts. The otherwise silent pair came before the ruins of Central Hospital and for a time stood still, the old man taking in the sight of the bombed out husk. He grimaced through teeth stained yellow with age and adverted his eyes as though pained by the image. Again the pen traced across the pad at blazing speeds, calculating whatever arcane thoughts that were going through the old man’s mind.

It was hard not to notice the pair as they moved through the city, ghost quiet except the incessant scratching of the pen. The piercing green glare of the old man and the empty brown gaze of his Nurse scanned the city, analyzing it was though it they were choosing a lamb for the slaughter. There was no empathy, no warmth in those eyes, just pure dead logic…

Does this City deserve it? Is it worth my trouble? I can pick up its tab, but can it pay my bill?

[Guest]

Destruction naturally invites disobedience and anarchy. Signs society in the city is turning for the worse, to descend into savagery simply to survive. Cruelty found itself abundant, seeping into life as martial law itself justified things. Court hearings suspended in turn with those donning the black of security taking not desperate measures, no, rather harsh measures.

Gunshots rung throughout the city, as coffins piled up in assorted rows. Victims claimed by the bullets descended upon the wooden grave presented before them. They weren't pitied neither sympathized. Their death came quick, despite their pleads, their sorrowful grieving for another chance at life. Promises of learning the error of their ways, to reform into obedient citizens...

"Hah! You should have thought about that before you have done the crime... and now, you do the time." A gaunt mocking man dressed in black kindly displays his empathy, which is to say non-existent. A vaudevillian in the role of Death.

A prominent surveyor of primness, and the stiff rod that presents the arm of the law. A brutal one at that. Nikolaus Stuka. A chief of the security present in Central, in charge of Amestris's Finest. A deceiving title for his devilish ways wearing such saintly garments.

BANG!

The figure walks to another.

BANG!

And so he walks to another.

BANG!

And so on and so forth, he repeats and rinses. Against the back of the skull, he presses the smoking barrel of the pistol, pulling the trigger. Each fell for every bullet spent, neatly they descend into their coffins, dragged away and assorted. Until his attention was found most waning.

Giving the scepter of responsibility, the mantle of executioner with a simple pass of the pistol to a subordinate. Letting his hand drape on top of his sheathed saber's pommel. Divorcing himself as he suffers no longer to remain in the U-shaped alleyway, no longer that dreadful bay of death opposite of the hospital. It was after all, his generous donation to the healing wards. If the evil cannot do good in life, they may do so in death -- organ donations gathered from the fresh corpses and such.

But he couldn't help but step away from his spot. A peculiar sight interested him so.

"Out with the old, and in with the new." A looming voice passed Aldrich's ears, as the black figure steps forth from his flank, opposite of the nurse, as if mindful of her, "My my, this is quite the rare sight, Aldrich von Koenig himself, tycoon, recluse, and an industrial think tank. What brings you out here to this... wonderful den of depravity and debauchery?"

[Guest]

The voice raked through Aldrich's mind like fingernails on a chalk board. It dripped with ill gained glee and bespoke of a violent psychopathic nature. This was not the voice of a human being, nor even of a sentient creature, no this was the voice of some hellspawned mimic. It could imitate human form and voice but it had no resemblance to the real thing, an imperfect copy incapable reaching that lofty goal.

He knew of this man, this wicked fiend who has traveled beyond the edge of sanity and yet remains hidden in plain sight, a psychopath in an officer's uniform. Aldrich didn't get to his age without keeping track of the military and the threats therein....

"Your sense of wonderment astounds and disgusts me, Colonel, only a man as twisted and cruel as the rumors say can take pleasure in this. The old man's eyes glared balefully into the Colonel's, not even a sidewards glance under that manic Aryan gaze. "But I am afraid I must agree with your first statement, the old must go, your 'wonderful den on depravity and debauchery' is a mockery of an ideal that Central must represent. I represent the progress, the new as you say, to wipe out and cleanse the old."

Here, Aldrich, for the briefest of moments grinned. "And I'm afraid, your world is of the old."

[Guest]

A smile drew forth from his lips, whether he was flattered, challenged, or merely intrigued is hard to say. His fingers tapped against the guard of his saber, feeling the smooth edge of the golden-like surface, yet he looked at Aldrich. A man that definitely to the blonde, well worth the interest he invested in.

"Oh the irony, the old one is of the new, and the new one is of the old. And here I find myself, agreeing that this world is getting far too... stale for my tastes." He cackled in good heart, delighted in such a statement of the older gentleman, or was it perhaps a mocking laughter? "You're fighting a slippery uphill battle then, Mister Von Koenig, there are those among the old that love their power afforded in that old world of theirs."

He stepped forward, glancing at the frontal building with a chipped away segment, laying the nether regions of the floor bare and for all to see, turning his cornermost glance towards the ancient progenitor, "Still encouraged to 'progress' the world without spilling a single drop of blood? I would LOVE to see that new world of yours you preach... it would be a good change of pace."

[Guest]

The old man barked out an mirthless laugh at the black shod zealot. And that was what this man before him really was, a fanatic barely suppressed under the illusion of civility. Aldrich had known men like this, but not since the old Coup some century ago had he seen ones so absolutely vile. This man before him was Solf Kimblee reborn, a violent sophist who wanted nothing more than to watch the world burn.

"I preach nothing, Colonel," Aldrich spoke slowly as he finished writing a few figures on his pad, exuding an air of superiority and disinterest in the wild animal before him. " I am sure that you know that blood alone moves the wheels of history. Idealists have said for years that sweat, tears, and virtue alone and make this world change, I did not live so long adhering to such dribble. A man unwilling to shed blood for his purpose is a man without drive. I have seen this world change and I have read the excuses for history textbooks that are around today. Casualties are not some footnote, they are those who paid to the Law of Equivalent exchange, blood for change."

There was something unnervingly calm about Aldrich despite his proximity to the blue-eyed fiend. Was it a facade, one might wonder? Was it a bluff? Or was this small, mutilated man truly unafraid of this herald of death? Aldrich couldn't help but wonder these things himself...

That blasted and barren building before them, its crumbling facade allowing the peering eye to seek the contents within, was a sign of what Central had become. Through the holes in the civilized world, you could see the harsh and malignant cancer that grew within it. The question was, who between these men was that hungering cancer?

[Guest]

An eyebrow raised, tilting his head peculiarly. Listening as he would like an obedient child to a fairytail story told by elders. Save for the fact the one listening with interest was a grown man well into his 30's. It was apparent. Nikolaus had fought many opponents whom are warriors under the sword and gun, but never had he met a silver-tongued opponent whom fights with pen and paper. A genuine wordsmith that ever so drew a wider smile from him.

As if it were, a fantasy once realized from a man most disappointed, often. An allure in one virtue that seems to hold true to people -- bravery. This is especially in an old man capable of limited functions.

Leaning towards the elderly, nostrils flaring, inhaling what scents lingered upon him, straightening his posture afterwards. "I'll remember this smell, it smells of... worth." He thought.

Following it up with a clap, a jovial and loud one that made itself heard well, "Well said, well said indeed! You're not a senile old man after all, no, no you aren't, you couldn't be, you talk to me with such wit and fire. You're a beacon of wisdom as it shines from Every. One. Of. Your. Orifices." He cackled, a creature drawn to the superiority as if a moth drawn to light, "Hoho~ I wouldn't have had it any other way for someone so close to expiration to be an idealist. Otherwise, I would've MURDERED you, lopped your head off, and planted it on a sharp pointy end..."

There was a pause.

"That was a joke." He says with a lack of enthusiasm, an anti-climactic end to a build up of the merry vibe.

[Guest]

"You do have a way with words don't you, Colonel? A vibrant and lively young chap who speaks his mind, a savant of words and wit most unequaled in this day an age." Aldrich's words dripped sarcasm, though he was sure the mad Colonel would take both the words and the sarcasm as a some form of twisted praise.

With a slight gesture, Aldrich motioned for his nurse to bend and take the note pad he'd been writing on. She moved in the fluid manner of someone trained and honed, whose body was under the complete control of the mind alone. It was a movement, despite being so mundane, only so capable done by either someone very dangerous or someone not quite human...

While the Nurse scanned over the pages of Aldrich's calculation, the old man cracked his still living knuckles slowly, popping one at a time. "I wouldn't, by the way, look at me as someone close to any sort of expiration."

POP

"Instead, perhaps, you should look at me as a fine wine, becoming only ever so potent as I age...

POP

"And even if I turned sour, my dear Colonel...

POP

"You'd fine me to be a vinegar much harder to swallow..."

The old man balled his withered hand into a fist, producing a final crunching noise as his joints released the pressure of writing. The Colonel might have been a joker, but Aldrich was in no mood for shenanigans. He knew the madman's joke was closer a threat than anything else, but he knew that the Colonel couldn't do a damn thing to him.

[Guest]

"What can I say? I certainly do try, I can see my charms won over even the most stubborn of wrinkly old farts." And so his bit back with poisonous venom back at the man who had most probably seen even the ages of the dinosaur, most likely and no doubt. Dabbled and dipped with a mocking tone.

Though there was the unfortunate implication that had existed. When two powerful men commanding a position where authority is natural, gather thus in a single spot, that it'd be bound to invite the attention of the wrong sort. Greedy souls dwell, as they gather. A sudden absence of people suddenly make this a stark reality that the only presence are those hostile.

"Ohoho, looks like I touched a nerve there. The old man is ever so touchy about his age~" The man seemed as if his gaze told him too much about his attendant, as if he had known all along, or rather through the first encounter, but to what extent? That's the unknown.

Though masking such ire towards the knuckles popping had invited a group of men clogging up the streets. Slit eyed, with menacing scowls on their faces. Scarred in a sense. One raised his hand, shooting darts like bullets towards... ambiguously, either Nikolaus or Aldrich. Unknown whom was the target.

Though wherever it was aimed, it bounced off what would be a blur. Parried with no indication... and yet there was only one person whom was thought to have had enough time to react -- the Colonel. Saber drawn out. Not practical in a situation where he could merely take out a gun and take cover behind the old man, but for otherwise more visible and painful psychological warfare rather.

"Your time is up, you have lived long enough." The assassin steps out with an entourage, a mass of men behind him clearly clogging up every spare inch of the streets, "We will end your miserable life. The benefactor demands it. You're only competition for his ambitions."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, whom was he talking to? Him or the old man? Because the Colonel was certainly sure that he hasn't lived quite long enough, and he knows that he hasn't exactly made enemies. After all, just killing people means there is nobody to hate one. As far as his logic went on. Not that the both of them were saints anyways. Maybe Nikolaus is (most definitely not).

"Yes, I agree, he has lived long enough. If there was anyone that has the power to end a life, it would be me. Not you shoddy amateurs." He looks at the street to his right side. Looks like they only blocked one end, AND there are too much to kill. At least not in public view. He had a choice, whether be a hero and save them here, ORRR be a hero AND kill them in front of the security HQ, where no doubt the news would be there to observe the incident.

He has decided his next course of action. He can already see it. Nikolaus Stuka, promoted for saving a wrinkled up old fart from certain doom and demise from an angry mob of assassins. He should blame RIOTE for that for extra points.

"Quick old fart! To the Security HQ! For your safety of course." He ordered, settling as to take over the nurse's duties forcibly, by steering the wheelchair swiftly to the emptier streets, sheathing the saber prior of course. Whizzing past the nurse with the old man having what would be an SMG left upon his lap, lacking consideration for her life whether out of his typical demeanor or for another reason is unknown so to say. "Whatever rambles you have old man, STOW IT. Just shoot the damn gun on whomever we come across."

Notably things would be going fast, too fast for an average human to be able to pull off. A few of the assassins were able to keep up, though they soon gave up. Their cardio wasn't good enough to keep up pace. The only obstructions were the pockets on the path to the security HQ, men armed with silenced firearm ordinance. A backup plan to prevent such a thing as this. Well in the view of the elderly and the blonde behind him.

[Guest]

The Nurse reacted before Aldrich did, calculating the dangers present around them and who to attend to first. The man behind Aldrich's wheelchair was perhaps the greatest threat; however Aldrich's demeanor towards him indicated that his threat was not immediate. Thus while the Colonel provided a getaway, the Nurse flew into action. With speeds comparable to Stuka and with motions beyond human efficiency, the Nurse moved in a pale white blur through the sea of men.

Her arms moved precise quick, open palmed strikes slamming with more force than her slender arms should be capable of. The men fell before her, many dead before they reached the ground. Her cold face remained emotionless as she parted through the men, bringing down those whom were too slow to move out of her way. Any survivors would later stand aghast not at the shattered bones or the massive blunt trauma left in her wake, but the myriad of piercing wounds that extended through each victim, as though the woman had rammed a blade up to its hilt with each blow.

It was not long before the men dispersed; either worn ragged from trying to chase the superhuman Colonel or left in tatters by the Nurse. Soon she's catch up to the pair, despite their lead, her focus now on the threat posed by the Colonel....

~~~~~

Aldrich ground his teeth in seething fury. This man was either saving his life or taking him to his death, either of which was entirely to the old man's displeasure. Who knew who the men were really after. The Colonel for the many lives he's taken or von Konig for the many careers he's destroyed. Though Aldrich was not nearly paranoid enough to consider the later seriously, it was, nonetheless, a very possible reason.

The gun in his lap posed a different sort of problem. While he was not against spilling blood or even taking lives, such a device as this was both unwieldy and inefficient in his hands. The answer here was to use something a little more familiar. With three quick pricks to his living hand, Aldrich drew blood from the mounts of his fingers and cupped his hand into a fist, thus bloodying the circle drawn into his glove. The old man spoke loudly over the rushing air as the pair approached a corner, “I’d avoid getting too close to those men ahead; you might be made a target.” And he wasn’t talking about of the assassin’s fire either.

As they swung around another corner and onto another street, Aldrich reached out and left a long bloody trail on the side of another abandoned building, a long storehouse of some sort. Alchemical light burst from the old man’s hands as the building shook apart, its foundations rumbling as its sides heaved outward, sending debris flying into some of the closest assassins. However this was a mere side effect of Aldrich’s true purpose. Long jolts of red alchemical energy still sparked across Aldrich’s hand and into the largest three piles of debris, though it became quickly apparent that these were more than mere rubble. Massive arms of brick and metal pushed out of the piles, three Golems standing three meters tall a piece rose up and bellowed with a noise not unlike avalanches.

The old man’s brow furrowed as the creatures stomped into the street ahead of them, each step leaving behind a small part of themselves as they trade material between themselves and the ground.

“THE FUCK IS THAT?! SHOOT IT!”

Men poured from an alleyway behind the fallen building, firing haphazardly at the groaning beast charging at them. Its face was of shattered glass from which a myriad of red eyes reflected, its fists massive things of brick and steel riveting, the bullets that pocketed and ricocheted off of it were completely ignored. In a motion far too quick for something so large, the creature reached out and slapped three of the men away in one sweep, sending them flying across the street, landing with a sickening crunch.

The two others stomped forth ahead of the Colonel and Aldrich, taking the brunt of the firearms damage while carving a swath of death and injury with violent ease before them.

[Guest]

In a way, the only value the assassins served was mostly to be slaughtered like insects. Killed and left without mercy, yet here they are, so desperate to get a catch. A huge catch one may safely presume worth a lot of money, perhaps enough to settle them well into retirement from the looks of it... or they are those that are loyal to the contract to the end.

Though what struck them harder was the sheer terror of a monster before them. A nurse killing them in droves. Men muscular and well armed killed by a slender nurse lacking any clear armaments of sorts. To them, she was a furious beast, nothing human. Sending any smarter, or rather more accurately, cowardly ones, into a full scale rout. Bodies bled, all in full view of the hospital.

On the end of Nikolaus, there he stood. Halted from his furious run. Pacing his breath in a sort of rhythm, catching his stamina. Though not entirely fatigued, every bit of momentary rest still counts.

"So that's what he meant by not being close and being a target eh? Cheeky little man." Those thoughts were mired with amusement and intrigue. A certain lust for the chaos caused merely by the cause of flight, and a quest for credits not due for him.

Bullets dropped, agony floundered, and Nikolaus smiled. He seemed at peace at the violent images before him, awed by the violent crescendo he witnessed. The blood that brilliantly stains the wall, the bones fractured, sticking out from the fleshy sinews, the mutilation abundant... this was wonderful.

But he was not one to be distracted by art in the making. Gloriously, Nikolaus, being the dashingly daring man he is, took the von Koenig over to a small alleyway empty of life. Devoid of obstacles that hindered his advance naught, letting the remaining golem that step forth to take care of those men. Though he wasn't fazed, as if being a no newcomer to the typical designs of strange alchemical products.

That, or it was just a sight used to in a world where alchemy is heavily present. Or perhaps he met Bigfoot and lived to tell the tale. Or maybe staked some vampire called Edward Cullen to the heart, only to find out he sparkles. Point being, Nikolaus wasn't surprised.

Finally wheeling Aldrich up the handicap ramp installed on the Security HQ's stairs he just arrived to, after a good sprint towards there, through the long winding street quite better maintained than those they went through.

"Oy Gunther, get the riot team, lethal weapons." Nikolaus hails the receptionist as he steps inside the building, carting the elderly towards well in view of the glass automatic sliding doors.

"Wait, RIOTE?"

"No no, the riot team. JUST GET'EM."

That said, soon what assassins chased were shot to death by men cloaked in black. Mopped up without even issued a warning for arrest. They weren't dealing with police officers. They were dealing with security soldiers. Mowed down, killed, until their blood ran and the streets were deserted of life save for his subordinates.

"Hell of a first day for a visit, eh old man?" Says an enthusiastic voice by the wheel chair bound elderly to his right, stepping forth. It was Nikolaus. Taking back the weapon from the old man's lap, holstering it from whence it came.

It would be time before the media would come to check upon what happened no doubt. In fact, already a crowd of camera holding fedora wearing paparazzi make their way towards the now cordoned security barricades, taking photos. Flashes lightening up the scenery.

"Mission accomplished." the Colonel mutters under his breath.

The Colonel certainly looked his part of being pristine and without a scrape or bruise that would diminish from his appearance.

[Guest]

Hell would be a rather appropriate term for it, yes Colonel.”

While the Colonel was still pristine despite his manic sprinting, Aldrich was only slightly worse for wear. It took moments for the Nurse to catch up to their position, taking up her place to Aldrich’s left, ready with a long gauze bandage to cover the old man’s self-inflicted wound. Despite her furious battle moments before, the woman showed no signs of fatigue no wear and was free from blood stains of any sort. With a moment of thought and a sigh, Aldrich motioned for his Nurse to wheel him within speaking range of the gathering media crowd. He spoke quietly as he passed by Stuka, “You want some praise and promotions? Then you’ll have it…”

The old man and the Nurse moved past the sliding doors of the Security HQ and stood atop its concrete stairs. The gathering reporters who had already obtained a few shots of the carnage and still feeling the need for another story quickly caught sight of the famed old man. Although more likely to show up in the business section or an obituary, Aldrich von Konig in public was nonetheless tabloid worthy if not newsworthy. Aldrich, however, had a different plan in mind. Closing his eyes and clearing his throat, Aldrich eased his face into a benefic smile and called out to the assembled press.

People of Amestris!

With a small cheer from some of the more patriotic reporters, Aldrich pushed on, “What has happened to our beloved capital? What devilry has brought forth such destruction? What evils have inserted themselves into the hearts of men? What could have caused such corruption in our very own streets that an old man cannot stroll through them without being a target for bloody-minded knaves? This is NOT the Central that I have known and loved for all my one hundred and twenty two years. This is NOT the Central that is the heart of civilization as we know it. NO! This, my dear friends, it a travesty, a mockery of what we Amestrians represent! We are a people of Progress! And Central should stand for that Progress!”

The old man breathed for a moment, giving a reported enough time to speak out. “Mister von Koenig! Sir! What, pray tell, are you going to do about this? You’ve been called by Amestris Business Monthly to be a recluse and a profiteer, uncaring of the common man.”

With a wave of his hand, Aldrich continued speaking, his benevolent smile never leaving his face. “I have found myself in recent years contemplating these very things. Who is Aldrich Theophilus Choldwig von Koenig? What shall he be remembered for? For being very very old? For being stingy? I couldn’t help but look into myself, I couldn’t help but thing of the accomplishments that my father Bernard von Koenig had achieved for this nation. It is not right that I should continue my reclusion, I should honor my father’s memory, I should honor the greatness of this country, I should honor the Common Man!” He slammed his automail arm down with a clang to drive his exclamation home.

“Today I was saved from certain Death from one of the good citizens of Central, Colonel Nikolaus Stuka. Already he has been hailed as a hero for his efforts against RIOTE and now he shows himself a shining example of Central’s humanity. This has inspired me, my fellow patriots; this has inspired me to push Amestris towards a brighter future. A future where the common man lives not in fear, a future where our children and our grandchildren may grow beyond the limits we now face, a future where we will work hand in hand to keep Central City the best damned place on this earth!”

This was met with a burst of applause and cheering, a positive message for dark times was too rare indeed. “ I plan to begin rebuilding Central, using my own funds to bring this city that I love not simply back onto its feet, but truly to make Central stand tall and proud as it should!”

[Guest]

The Colonel stepped out by Aldrich and apart his nurse. Greeted by a crowd of paparazzi so fresh to have come. Like vultures unto the ripe flesh of the dead. In this case, a good scoop to print out in what functional newspaper lingers on. After all, news like this makes a worthy scoop. And this wheelchair bound frail creature that he herded to the office, he was a creature of intrigues far better than the man of action Nikolaus is. Perhaps a compensation due to the inadequacy of a lacking to which he adapted to suit talking?

He gave a few waves to the hungry public. His stern and uncompromising face contorting to a pleasant and angelic smile that somehow contradicts his gaunt features. Truthfully, his stomach churned, feeling a heavy disgust for the stupid cattle before him. Envisioning a bloody street strewn with guts and intestines hanging from lamp posts. Eyes mangled, faces bored with holes, limbs littering the streets.

That one image soothed the beast into a relative calmness, in lieu to the thirst for blood. Per se.

He couldn't help but smile towards the crowd. It was the best he can do. The speech Aldrich spurred Nikolaus into mirth. Gleeful. If anything, once the old man finished his speech, the Colonel nods and waves to the crowd. Excusing himself back into the building, strolling with large strides towards whatever obstruction there is from any views of reporters. Waltzing into a generic office where he gripped his chest tightly, clutching it. His feet guided the door to a close.

"Heheh... heh.... ha.... haha.... HAHAHAHA.... BWAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" He raved like a mad man. Finally bursting out into a mad laughter. A humorous thing he never saw in a long time.

The sheer hypocrisy, the way that man kept a straight face to the crowd. It was a pungent perversity that amused him greatly. Laughing hard and loud, away from the kine he graced with his presence. The fodder. And the man of intrigues and courtly manipulations.

His laughter dimming down, wiping the tear from the side of his eyes all in good raving. Stepping out of the room as he was met with the stares of his subordinates, all spooked.

"What?" He raises an eyebrow, waving their attention away, "Stop staring and get back to work."

His promotion should be close to fruition and praise as well. But the question was, what was the elderly's angle exactly? That was the interesting part about it.

[Guest]

The crowds around the old man cheered on. Cheered for the Hero of Central, cheered for the bright future that Aldrich promised, cheered for the man himself. He couldn’t help but share in Stuka’s internal disgust, these people willing to eat up hollow words so readily, ready to believe anything that came to their ears. These were the people that allowed atrocities of the past to occur in the name of the State that allowed the Ishvallan War to occur, that allowed for the inhuman wastes of life that occurred time and again before and after it. It was people like this that allowed terror and viciousness to thrive in this world. And Aldrich felt that it was about time to take advantage of it.

“I shall continue to give this city, Our City, a thorough personal inspection. In but a short time, we together shall begin to build that better future!”

With that final statement, Aldrich and his Nurse wheeled down through the crowds and out into the streets once more. This city was the board upon which Aldrich now played. The pieces were coming together; the idiot public placed as pawns, the monster that is Stuka an unpredictable black knight. Out there the other pieces were moving into place and out there laid person or persons who would set up their own pieces, preparing to move against Aldrich. The game had yet to begin but the first steps had been laid out.

[Exit Thread]

(Sorry Niko, unless you have a particular idea of where to go from here, Aldrich is going to get out into Amestris and start running amok. Thanks for a really good intro here though, if you have any ideas to either continue this thread or start a new one PM me and I'll either edit or shift things about)

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