But I just wanted to write something with a cruel and protective Alphonse. Yeah.
“Cruel” was the first word that came to Roy’s mind as he saw the crime scene before him. The whole top half of a man’s head had been blown off by bullets—but not from a shotgun or rifle but instead repeatedly shot by a handgun or pistol. Upon closer inspection, the man had apparently been brutally beaten before being shot, and pieces of glass were embedded in the flesh and gums inside his mouth.
Several other bodies lied strewn about the penthouse apartment, but none in as bad of a shape as this Timballo Forno, (former) cell operative of the gang Pomodoro. Whatever the motive was, however, was hard to guess, as the list of people who wanted members of this gang dead can be as long as the Magna Carta, if tallied up correctly.
Sighing, Roy decided that today was another day to put Havoc on overtime.
He looked like god and the devil put together, the man thought hazily through a string of warbled words and red-veiled vision. The boy standing before him had the most crooked grin, something that was completely different from the other one with the same face whom he’d just shot. The man, Timballo Forno, glanced to his side, thinking that he was either seeing doubles or some sort of evil spiritual manifestation of the blond-hair, blue-eyed youth he’d just shot. Said boy was still bleeding on the ground, and Forno turned around just in time to let his cheek connect with the face of a watch. He heard his teeth crack as well as the face of the watch crinkle nastily against his skin.
“Where is the missing merchandise?” the boy asked. Forno shuddered pitifully and mumbled, or rather, gargled something from the blood and teeth that swam through the cavern of his mouth.
“Y-you won’t kill me, will you?” Forno whimpered. For that, he received another punch in the face, and this time it was so hard that the watch the boy placed on his knuckles slipped and there was actual skin-to-skin contact.
“DID THEY TEACH YOU TO ANSWER QUESTIONS WITH QUESTIONS IN GRADESCHOOL?! ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION!”
Forno yelped and ducked his head, shaking furiously on the ground, smelling the reek of gunpowder and blood. If he placed his lips to the carpet anymore, he’d be sucking blood from the fibers. With one shaky hand, he pointed at a rug placed in front of the bathroom. The boy, keeping his gun pointed at Forno, walked over to the carpet and kicked it over, finding a discoloured wooden plank underneath. After lifting it, he found about twenty pounds of the merchandise inside and gave a small grunt of approval. For a moment, Forno thought he was safe. But the returning footsteps told him otherwise.
“Your molars,” the boy in front of him said. Though the light coming in from the window behind him, Forno thought that the boy’s eyes were gold. But the play of light on the silhouette as well as the gold glint on the watch the boy was securing back onto his knuckles made it hard to tell. Forno could have almost sworn that he saw the cruelest of grins cross those lips.
“I hope you won’t miss them,” the boy said. He jammed a test tube he’d found that was still intact on the ground into Forno’s mouth.
And proceeded to beat Forno within a millimeter of his life before shooting him square between the eyebrows. Repeatedly.
“When we go home,” Alfons shouted through the hail of gunfire, “remind me to smack you first and then treat you to vincigrassi!”
“Look, I said, I had to make sure!” Al protested.
“Apparently that’s what blew our cover, you twat!” Alfons yelled, then jammed a fresh magazine into his gun. “I’ll cover you!”
Without waiting for Alphonse to finish his objection, Alfons rolled out from behind the near-beehive armoire and shot, with precision, the two gunmen who had been showering bullets down upon him and his twin.
What he didn’t notice, though, was that their leader had been using them as flesh shields, and as soon as they fell down he fired a shotgun in Alfons’ general direction.
Good news and bad news: the two meat shields got in the way of most of the bullets, but Alfons got peppered. Alphonse got out from behind the armoire just in time to see his twin go down, trailing red behind him.
Bad news for Forno.
The reason why they couldn’t just kill the people right then and there on the spot was because of the fear that the “goods” that they also had to return with was not hidden inside the penthouse apartment they were sitting comfortably in. It started out casually enough, the twins introducing themselves as people from a more distant cell here to pick up some shares of the shipment that had just come in from Rush Valley. Forno and his cell of six welcomed them in after hearing that they were from Dublith, where Forno had been thinking about buying a villa.
When drinks were served, the boys both politely refused, Al saying that he gets twitchily violent after drinking, and that he needed to keep an eye out on Alfons, who would probably wake up with rainbow-coloured pubic hair if he was allowed to even have a thimble-full. They had tried to be as polite as possible about it, but then, refusing a drink from a cell operative was never too smart, alcohol resistance not withstanding.
After a brief moment of chit-chat, a cell-member came with a duffle bag that contained two pounds of the white powder that Al and Alfons had come to request for when Al decided that he needed to go to the bathroom.
He really didn’t mean to snoop, but when he passed by the kitchen, he noticed that there was an array of test tubes and other things that looked like they belonged in a chemistry lab, and not a kitchen.
“Excuse me,” he asked, poking his head out from behind the doorframe of the kitchen. “What exactly is this chemistry lab here for?”
It took him a while to notice that, amongst the pile of glass tubes and Bunsen burners were the missing packs of the merchandise they were told to recover. Apparently, not only have this cell been embezzling the stocks, but they have also been producing their own cheaper versions of the drug from shipments from Youswell. The cell was making a hefty sum of money by selling the wholesale of the cocaine at a cheaper price and then using that money to buy ingredients for crack, which they were able to sell more of since it was cheaper on the streets.
And, as soon as the rain of bullets came down, all that became a moot point as Al and Alfons decided they should have done what they came here to do in the first place—kill every member of the cell (but leave one barely alive to tell them the location of the embezzled goods. Sigh).
The morning had started out normally enough, with Ed not really agreeing to get out of bed, and Uley getting an order for the twins.
“If you’re giving us the order, Dad, it must be huge,” Alphonse said, looking up from his cereal into Uley’s serious face.
“It is,” Uley answered. “The boss of Pomodoro suspects that one of his cell operatives is embezzling merchandise as they are being shipped from the southern border into Dublith. The boss says that every time a shipment comes in, he’s missing anywhere from five to ten pounds out of fifty, which is quite a hefty amount to lose, especially with clients waiting.
“The mission this time is a bit dangerous, since you will be going against an entire cell. You have to figure out where the stolen merchandise is, and get rid of the members of that cell. The order is to leave no survivors.”
It sounded easy enough, at the time.