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4TH WALL
[[This was a morning that Major Alex Louis Armstrong was not going to forget.
It had started as a morning like any other; he awoken in his bed in Goldenrod City, his Arcanine and Luxray snoozing on his legs. It was a beautiful morning; the sun was shining in through his open curtains and it made him smile.
Not as much, however, as the sight of his gauntlets did.
He'd noticed that his arms felt heavier than normal, but it was a comforting, natural weight, the feeling of the steel wrapping around his hands. He brought his beloved weapons up to his eyes, wide and staring, the alchemy circles as clear as the day they were burned into the metal.
His poor Pokemon were far less impressed by the whole situation, awoken by the impact of the floor against their faces as their estatic trainer literally leaps right out of bed. But his happiness is their happiness, and they gladly trail after him as he makes a mad rush out the door, almost forgetting to pull on a shirt.
The route outside the city is soon subjected to every single move in his repertoire; countless statues, missiles, walls, designs of all shapes and sizes...to be able to do this again is the greatest gift he could have asked for. His shirt long discarded, he bellows up to the sky before pounding his fist down into the earth.]]
Witness the artistic alchemy passed down through the Armstrong family for generations!
[[He isn't even addressing anyone in particular, but being able to say that line again....the feeling is enough to bring a tear to his eye. As is the sight of his Golem spinning through the massive walls and spikes he's creating to respond with his own, even winking with the traditional Armstrong sparkle.
Being able to teach his very first Pokemon the Armstrong alchemy style of earth and rock manipulation....it's one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.]]
It had started as a morning like any other; he awoken in his bed in Goldenrod City, his Arcanine and Luxray snoozing on his legs. It was a beautiful morning; the sun was shining in through his open curtains and it made him smile.
Not as much, however, as the sight of his gauntlets did.
He'd noticed that his arms felt heavier than normal, but it was a comforting, natural weight, the feeling of the steel wrapping around his hands. He brought his beloved weapons up to his eyes, wide and staring, the alchemy circles as clear as the day they were burned into the metal.
His poor Pokemon were far less impressed by the whole situation, awoken by the impact of the floor against their faces as their estatic trainer literally leaps right out of bed. But his happiness is their happiness, and they gladly trail after him as he makes a mad rush out the door, almost forgetting to pull on a shirt.
The route outside the city is soon subjected to every single move in his repertoire; countless statues, missiles, walls, designs of all shapes and sizes...to be able to do this again is the greatest gift he could have asked for. His shirt long discarded, he bellows up to the sky before pounding his fist down into the earth.]]
Witness the artistic alchemy passed down through the Armstrong family for generations!
[[He isn't even addressing anyone in particular, but being able to say that line again....the feeling is enough to bring a tear to his eye. As is the sight of his Golem spinning through the massive walls and spikes he's creating to respond with his own, even winking with the traditional Armstrong sparkle.
Being able to teach his very first Pokemon the Armstrong alchemy style of earth and rock manipulation....it's one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.]]
2/2
[[In their matching uniforms, the two of them standing amongst the results of his alchemy, Armstrong feels his blood run cold. This has to be a trick, a sick joke. Will this monster ever stop?]]
Kimblee, what....where did you get-
[[...but as Armstrong looks closer, something deep within him knows this isn't the Kimblee he knows. This one is more youthful, with a brashness about him, a dangerous glint in his eyes to go with the arrogant smirk.
Exactly how he was seven years ago. In the Ishval war.]]
A....ah.....
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Really, Major. You act as though you're seeing a ghost.
[He's not making any sort of effort to mask the condescension in his voice; if anything, he sounds bored, or at the very least completely unimpressed.
Hmm...oh well, really.]
It doesn't matter - now that we're both here, I don't suppose you have any information regarding exactly where this place is? Or what this place is, for that matter, it's all hideously bizarre; were it not so elaborate I'd assume it was some sort of trick.
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How....how did you come here?!
[[Was there some sort of hole ripped in the dimensions? Did his alchemy follow this maniac through it? Why would something so beautiful be forced in with someone as terrifying as this-]]
I...!!
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You act as though I came here on purpose. If I knew, I certainly wouldn't be asking you where this place is.
[Good god, man, you are really fucking agitated.]
If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were displeased to see me. Do I want to know why?
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Tell me, Major....what is the last thing you remember before you came here?
[[His tone is ice-cold. He's doing everything he can to separate himself from....that boy he was in the streets of Ishval.
You may not have changed, Kimblee, but he has.]]
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...oh, wait, that's better. Are we actually getting somewhere now? Please tell him we're actually getting somewhere now. Admittedly, that's a bit of an odd question, but it seems intended to answer at least some of the discrepancies happening here. Outside of, you know, the general discrepancy being presented by reality as a whole at the moment.
He doesn't like your tone, Major, but he'll answer - there's not much sense in doing otherwise.]
I just received orders to secure the Kanda district; I have yet to be properly deployed, however.
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He trembles slightly.]]
You've...been brought to a place called....Johto, I....
[[The visions start small, but they're vivid; flashes of explosions, soldiers running, people screaming-]]
I....I....!!!
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Major...?
[That's...surprisingly genuine-sounding, a fair amount of the condescension gone from his tone; he's closer to curious than concerned, but the shift is apparent regardless.]
...take time to compose yourself. There's no immediate urgency, I don't think.
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.....
[[-and around him are his works of art, born from his alchemy, so perfect and beautiful and death traps nothing but death traps NO they bring him happiness, they bring him so much happiness and the screaming, you could hear them screaming as they realised they couldn't escape NO NO NO his alchemy is his core, his very soul, his life and how many lives did it take-
Hands clutching his head, Armstrong's gauntlets begin to crackle and hiss, blue electricity sparking off them as he begins to prepare his alchemy, and with another scream he slams his fist into the nearest creation, blasting it into a million pieces, and his next target is that wall he built, that's going, it shatters, falling to the ground, his Golem watching him with sad, panicked eyes as he curls up to prevent himself getting injured by the falling debris.]]
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Major!
[Kimblee doesn't think before he responds, the reaction instinctive; he's brought his hands together, the clapping sound sharp and harsh - he's avoiding aiming anything at the other alchemist and so directly tearing through the ground is out of the question, but that doesn't mean he's completely unable to do anything, and the alchemic energy crackles sharply between his hands as he separates them.
He hates trying to direct anything through the air, for the same reason he hates guns - he can't read it or find any sort of consistent energy flow to follow, as he does with most substances. He knows that logically he's in control of whatever projectile he puts out there, but it still feels uncontrolled and random; as such, he usually reserves what he's going to do as either a last-minute line of defense if he doesn't have time to manage anything else, or a device to draw his opponent's attention elsewhere.
He forces the energy directly into the ground, arcing it through the air a few feet in front of him, forcing a detonation on impact; it isn't anything large-scale, but it is loud as hell. Not very beautiful, but he's not trying for aesthetics right now; he's just fully aware that he has no control over the situation and like hell if he's going to actually approach Armstrong right now in an attempt to assert himself.]
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-as they turned to look back at him, and he swallowed nervously, but there was a small sense of pride in what he was doing. Surely....surely it would be alright if those two escaped? Just a woman and her elderly mother, surely there wouldn't be anything wrong-
-and he screams again, slamming his gauntlet into the remaining pieces of the wall again and again and again, his alchemy only activating every second strike, but the wall starts to fall, to crumble, and soon he'll be free, free to escape-
-if they just quietly disappeared? His new gauntlets, a gift from his father upon graduation, feel heavy, and there is a blister forming on his little finger. But the pain is fading as he sees the women walking into the distance. They've travelling slowly but-
-will he escape? This wall is so huge, so strong; he would know, since he built it, but there wasn't a wall here before? That's what they said before they died, they expressed that innocent confusion and oh god those words burned at his heart for so many years and even now they feel like salt being added to an already raw wound-
-then there's suddenly a whip of energy through the air and it strikes them in the back, together, and it's together that they explode into a million pieces, the only sign that they ever existed in this world reduced to little more than a gash of blood on the dirt, and his legs feel weak, so weak, and he wants to scream and close his eyes and hide but he can't tear his gaze away from the horrible, painful sight-
-that he just can't seem to heal, and the wall refuses to fall any more because his alchemy refuses to come any more, and he's tired, so tired....falling to his knees-
-amidst the broken, bloodied landscape, and there are footsteps coming up behind him, a young man with a black ponytail and cruel eyes and a smile like a snake, offering his hand, and he doesn't need any more information to know that he was the one responsible for the removal of the women from this world, without barely batting an eyelash-
-and it just seems like too much effort to stand any more, his hands sliding down the rock, and he rests his head against the cool, perfectly carved stone and it's there that he allows himself to cry, his tears trailing down his cheeks to slide down the stone wall, and he wonders if this is how they felt in the moment before the soldiers behind them pulled the trigger, knowing that there was nothing they could say, nothing they could do-
-and he wishes he could just disappear.]]
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His approach is a wary one; his adrenaline is still running high. He doesn't offer Armstrong his hand, as that hadn't gotten him anywhere last time; rather, he crouches down next to him, his body tense even as he shifts his weight and sits back on his heel.]
Can you talk to me?
[There's tension in his voice as well, though he's obviously trying to bite it back; though his words imply at least some degree of understanding, his tone is tight and clipped - he has no idea what's going on, and he doesn't like it.]
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He hears Kimblee approaching and he tenses violently, but doesn't turn to look at him. Thankfully, no hand is offered. He's not sure how he would have reacted had one been.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and strained, like he has to force his vocal cords to move. He does, really, but he wants to let the words out. Needs to let the words out.]]
...we're monsters.
[[Needs to let the truth out.]]
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Yes, we are.
[And that's it.
No justification, no "however", no trying to explain it away or questioning why it does or doesn't matter. Just a simple response.
We're monsters.
Yes, we are.]
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I never thought I would agree with you on something.
[[Looking down at his hands, at the metal devices wrapped around them, Armstrong sighs, closing his eyes.]]
....leave me.
[[It's not a question. Not in the least. He opens his eyes, still not facing Kimblee, but he does look at him.]]
Please just....leave me here.
[[And his places his hands against the wall, nails dragging softly down the stone.]]
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{Despite his words, he's already rising to his feet again; he sets himself immediately to brushing off the lower half of his coat once he's up, the motion finicky.]
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[[His voice is practically a whisper, and his eyes close again.]]
You've got work to do, after all.