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There were many factors as to why this wasn’t her fault. None of those would save her life when everything came to life, but she actually didn’t care much. She felt detached. For the first time in a long while, she was at peace. A calm had settled over her that allowed her to consider her situation rationally.
Three factors to her actions stood out about the rest.
Factor One: She hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep.
Sleep deprivation was a torture tactic for a reason, and she supposed that was why they’d done it. Ever since she learned Pride was lurking in the shadows, the homunculus had done whatever he could to ensure she never got a full night’s sleep. Not to mention, the Fuhrer himself had been keeping her in the office or running errands at hours well past what she’d faced even in the roughest times under the Colonel’s command.
It was a way to keep her in check, but oh, how that turned on them now.
Factor Two: She’d been trapped with the enemy.
Humans were humans, and Riza hadn’t grown up with any grand notions as to what that meant. They evolved from animals, and therefore had animal tendencies. What would any animal do when trapped in a cage with a predator? She couldn’t even specify which enemy was more frightening to be held hostage by. Wrath could kill in an instant, she’d heard plenty about Bradley’s ruthlessness. Pride had held her entire body in its clutches before and she had felt how it’d be all too easy for it to kill her. Day after day after day with those two constantly in her space, in rooms alone with them, the very thought made her heart race and sweat break out on the back of her neck.
Factor Three: They pushed her constantly.
She’d gathered that all the homunculi had their own special ability, but the one that each seemed to possess was an uncanny ability to prod the sorest spots. Each word was a weapon meant to flay her skin. They dented her armor, tore down her walls, and tore through the thick skin she’d been building since birth. Sometimes it was threats to Roy and how they’d end him if he ever were to lose his usefulness to them. Other times they talked about how they might as well cage him like the dog he was, feed him scraps until the Day of Reckoning arrived. Then there were times it wasn’t her Colonel they threatened, but their team. They talked about accidents in the field that weren’t accidents at all. They taunted her with every gruesome detail about how they might end Breda, Falman, Fuery, and even Havoc. They had vivid imaginations filled with the macabre. All those nicks and slashes led to a fountain of blood pouring out until she was liable to snap.
And that’s what she did.
She couldn’t really remember what exactly it had been except for all of the factors she listed out and the other smaller ones that help bolster the bigger ones. Wrath had been talking so calmly about something—Roy. That was the most common offender. As she made him tea, he casually talked about what he would do when all Roy fulfilled his role. The graphic details of gutting and torturing, circling back to new ways he might enjoy it all. Then…then he’d talked about all the ways that Roy wasn’t fit to rule Amestris, all the ways he was less than, weaker.
She heard these threats and put downs every time she came to work, and then every time she went home. She heard them around the office whenever Wrath was in the same room. She heard it from Pride even in the middle of the night when the moon cast a shadow at the foot of her bed for that little voice to creep in with kidlike giggles as they filled all her hours with the grotesque visions they had for her, her team, her family.
Maybe she shouted enough as she did it. Then again, that would have been louder than the actions she’d already done. A shout would’ve alerted some to what she’d done.
No, it must have been in her head. Like a chant. Enough, enough, enough, enough.
She punctuated each word with another slam. That’s why her hands were sticky. That’s why her face had sweat and blood dripping down it. Her uniform was more stained than it’d ever been in Ishval. It was the closest kill she’d ever had, and somehow more satisfying. It hardly even felt like a kill.
One moment, Wrath was calmly ripping apart everything she cared about, and the next, she’d grabbed one of the heavy paperweights off his desk—he had so many of them—and crashed it into his skull. She bet the man hadn’t even expected it. The flicker of raised eyebrows on his face was enough to show her that. Enough. It had been enough to kill him in such a human way. He would’ve scoffed at it if it were anyone else. So funny how he couldn’t scoff at it when it was himself. How beautifully poetic to die at the hand of someone he viewed as less than himself. He’d call humans insects, and she’d called him a monster.
Oh how the tables had turned.
She’d never snapped like this before if she thought about it. Even when she believed Lust had killed Roy, she didn’t feel this out of control. She’d screamed and shot and cried, but this was more than that. In that moment, she’d been too aware of her body and every movement she’d made. Now, she was other. She didn’t feel her body or her emotions. She was sure she’d probably broken her hand, maybe her wrist, and maybe even thrown out her shoulder if not entirely dislocated it, but if any of those sensations existed, she couldn’t feel them.
She should check in on Roy.
She grabbed the phone on the desk with her other hand. She still held the remains of the paperweight in her right hand. Strangely, she had blood on this one, too. It seemed to be everywhere, but at least Wrath seemed incapable of regenerating. She hadn’t considered that—or anything, really—when she started this whole thing. Seemed she was lucky.
His number was one of the many she had memorized, but it always came the easiest. It came easily to him, too. He’d told her so in the past, and she’d seen it firsthand when he called her after she’d discovered Pride. That felt like ages ago.
Would he be home? Maybe she should go meet him in his office. No. That would be a bad choice in her current state. She’d cause a frenzy before she ever got to his office.
“Hello?” his voice was music. He was light, the flame to warm her when she felt so, so cold. “Colonel Mustang speaking.”
“Roy?”
She caught his sharp inhale. “Lieutenant? Why are you calling so late? What happened?”
So late?
She looked out the window to see it was actually night. She couldn’t remember when she’d done it. Had it been day time then? Or had night already fallen? With the way they kept her up, she had trouble remembering anymore.
“I’m free.”
“Free? Lieutenant, you’re not making any sense.”
“I don’t think…I don’t think I’m a Lieutenant anymore, Roy. Not after this.”
He swallowed on the other end of the line. “After what? What happened?”
“Tell me you’re okay, and I’m fine.”
She waited. He was quiet.
She continued waiting until he finally started speaking again, “Where are you?”
“The Fuhrer’s office.”
The fear was obvious in his voice. “Riza, tell me what happened, please.”
“He can’t do anything to us anymore. I made sure of it.”
“Riza, what…what have you done?”
She smiled, it was the first time she’d done so in months. He was worried about her, but it would all be fine. Everything would be okay now. She found herself laughing, even. It was an elated feeling to be free of Wrath.
“I killed him.”