[This was supposed to be easy - show up in the town, raise a little hell, kill a few people. He'd practically been given permission by the Fuhrer to have fun with this, for crying out loud, and as empty as this city had turned out to be, the chimeras hadn't even been necessary.
The night had been half-over before that had really started to seem strange. It was possible that the people in the town had been jumpy, that they'd gotten out once the tanks showed up and a heavier military presence had really gotten itself moving. Maybe that's why there was no one in the streets; they had reason to be afraid, right? Of course they did! So it was only after Kimbley had hit one of the more central districts and people actually had engaged him in combat - mostly guys, a few idiots thinking they were brave, trying to meet him on even ground only to get caught up in the blasts ripping up the streets - that it really started to feel wrong.
If those in Liore were willing to fight back...
He didn't have much time to dwell on it; the rest of his evening had been given to Scar.]
C'mon, c'mon...fuck are you...
[Kimbley doesn't know what happened to the walking scrap heap, as he'd lost Alphonse a while back. He doesn't think he's managed to kill him; his priorities had been elsewhere for once. He's got temporary cover for now, his back pressed against one of the crumbling walls, his palms flattened against the concrete while he catches his breath, inhaling so jaggedly that he's certain Scar could hear from the next city block over; a quick glance upward lets him know it's a load-bearing wall, affecting enough of the aluminoferrite should bring it down...the calculations are quick in his head, almost unconscious, and he's already decided what he's going to do and exactly how he's going to do it by the time Scar shows up.
He doesn't see him, but he can hear him; Scar's entered that open intersection between the streets, and Kimbley's pressing his palms back against the wall before running like hell again. The reaction should be slow enough to be disorienting, causing enough of a distraction to let Kimbley get some cover and try to take Scar down from a different direction. This entire battle has been an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object; Kimbley's getting sick of it.
The sun's coming up, and he thinks he can hear someone yelling, but he's hardly thinking about that now; he's actually surprised to see that the diversion tactic worked worth a damn - the explosion goes off, the wall comes down...and, for a moment, so does Scar's guard.
The next procedure is quick, something so easily done it's practically instinct by now - alteration of blood, of iron and water, the conversion into nitroglycerin starving the tissue of oxygen and killing it, turning it black; he'll be a bomb before long, and when Kimbley lets go of his wrist he's more than satisfied with his work.
This had worked out better than he'd thought - he'd carried out his assignment and he'd taken out the terrorist that'd been causing them so many problems. Kimbley doesn't even remember the guy, not really; he remembers marking someone up but not destroying him, and he supposes it could have been this one - what he'd done had definitely been enough to warrant calling the guy "Scar" from then on, if the guy had lived - but he doesn't remember his face.
...the next thing Scar does ensures that even if Kimbley never really remembers his face, he's definitely going to remember something. Most likely how much of a crazy bitch he is.
no subject
The night had been half-over before that had really started to seem strange. It was possible that the people in the town had been jumpy, that they'd gotten out once the tanks showed up and a heavier military presence had really gotten itself moving. Maybe that's why there was no one in the streets; they had reason to be afraid, right? Of course they did! So it was only after Kimbley had hit one of the more central districts and people actually had engaged him in combat - mostly guys, a few idiots thinking they were brave, trying to meet him on even ground only to get caught up in the blasts ripping up the streets - that it really started to feel wrong.
If those in Liore were willing to fight back...
He didn't have much time to dwell on it; the rest of his evening had been given to Scar.]
C'mon, c'mon...fuck are you...
[Kimbley doesn't know what happened to the walking scrap heap, as he'd lost Alphonse a while back. He doesn't think he's managed to kill him; his priorities had been elsewhere for once. He's got temporary cover for now, his back pressed against one of the crumbling walls, his palms flattened against the concrete while he catches his breath, inhaling so jaggedly that he's certain Scar could hear from the next city block over; a quick glance upward lets him know it's a load-bearing wall, affecting enough of the aluminoferrite should bring it down...the calculations are quick in his head, almost unconscious, and he's already decided what he's going to do and exactly how he's going to do it by the time Scar shows up.
He doesn't see him, but he can hear him; Scar's entered that open intersection between the streets, and Kimbley's pressing his palms back against the wall before running like hell again. The reaction should be slow enough to be disorienting, causing enough of a distraction to let Kimbley get some cover and try to take Scar down from a different direction. This entire battle has been an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object; Kimbley's getting sick of it.
The sun's coming up, and he thinks he can hear someone yelling, but he's hardly thinking about that now; he's actually surprised to see that the diversion tactic worked worth a damn - the explosion goes off, the wall comes down...and, for a moment, so does Scar's guard.
The next procedure is quick, something so easily done it's practically instinct by now - alteration of blood, of iron and water, the conversion into nitroglycerin starving the tissue of oxygen and killing it, turning it black; he'll be a bomb before long, and when Kimbley lets go of his wrist he's more than satisfied with his work.
This had worked out better than he'd thought - he'd carried out his assignment and he'd taken out the terrorist that'd been causing them so many problems. Kimbley doesn't even remember the guy, not really; he remembers marking someone up but not destroying him, and he supposes it could have been this one - what he'd done had definitely been enough to warrant calling the guy "Scar" from then on, if the guy had lived - but he doesn't remember his face.
...the next thing Scar does ensures that even if Kimbley never really remembers his face, he's definitely going to remember something. Most likely how much of a crazy bitch he is.
He blows his own goddamn arm off.]
...you can't be fucking serious.