Typically, it's considered bad form to shoot your enemy from behind. But Solf J. Kimblee let his victims run and knew the look of a sprinting back all too well. To Kimblee, this was all but typical. What was typical was the look they gave him right before he let them do it. You could catch their beads of sweat like pearls; and their eyes, perspiring in clouds of misty salt water. Kimblee felt bile rise up in his throat at the thought of sympathizing with this beady rodent-eyed look. He would sometimes catch himself musing on how one could, imagining that this is exactly the kind of look that gave Mustang his dark circles. But these musings did not last long. By this time, the time their eyes would get round and glossy, Kimblee would remind himself with the creaking, shivering voice in his head, the voice of a child holding its Christmas present a second before his parents would say "Alright. It's time. Open up."

Not yet… Hold it in… Wait for it…

And by the time they were far enough to think they were safe, there was not a rock in sight that didn't know of what was coming. He marked this moment down to the millisecond of their dropping shoulders, and he could see their smiles from the backs of their heads. As soon as he knew, he would revel in sweet release.

Open up!

His body would contort as the ground did, his glaring, bulging muscles, the hot swelling ground; the rising grumble in his chest, the quaking cracks bedecked; the protruding veins of his porcelain neck, the squirts of red that flew from Ishvalan eye sockets, throats, and limbs upon the smashes and stings of jagged wreckage.

What would follow was Kimblee's final gift to the Ishvalan's fading light. An ear-splitting roar of laughter, garish with squeaks and acidic spits, a stomach turning symphony to be heard within a 10-mile radius, resonating in the ears of every surviving Ishvalan. The mere sight of Kimblee hit the distant echoes of this laugh on replay. They knew they were going to die. So what always followed would be nothing less of a surprise.

"Run."

The result of a forty minute impulsive scribbling session. I hope you all understand it, it's a bit of a mess. I've always imagined Kimblee to be the type to give his victims false hope before eliminating them. The idea for this one-shot started with the realization that his powers let him do this kind of thing- let his victims run. And the rest is history.

Please review!