Edward stood there, panting hard, his lungs burning as he glared down at the sick bastard in front of him. His fists were coated in blood—some of it his own, but mostly the scientist’s—and he barely even felt the sting of split knuckles. The man was crumpled against the wall, groaning, but Edward didn’t care. He deserved worse. Way worse.

This guy had used his own daughter... and his dog. To make a goddamn chimera. The image of that twisted thing, the pitiful sound it made, wouldn’t leave Edward’s mind. It churned in his gut like bile.

"You're disgusting," Edward spat, his voice low and trembling with rage. He didn’t even wait for a response, just turned away, his boots crunching on broken glass and god knows what else scattered across the lab floor.

The house was a nightmare in itself. Every room they searched made Edward feel sicker. Bloody tools sat on grimy tables like trophies, and the walls were lined with shelves stacked with notebooks—projects, experiments, failed lives scribbled down in neat, detached handwriting. There were pieces, too. Pieces of something. Edward didn’t want to look too closely.

Then there were the barrels.

He stopped in front of one, his nose wrinkling at the smell leaking from the rusted metal. He already knew it was bad—horrible, even—just from the stench. His stomach twisted, but he couldn’t make himself lift the lid. He didn’t need to see what was inside.

“Let’s keep moving,” he muttered, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. He didn’t look at Alphonse, didn’t want to see the sympathy in his little brother’s glowing eyes.

Eventually, they reached the end of the hallway. A single locked door loomed there, almost ordinary compared to the rest of the hellscape they’d been trudging through.

“Al,” Edward said, stepping aside.

Alphonse didn’t need more than that. With one solid swing of his armored hand, the doorframe exploded into splinters, and the door swung open.

Whatever was inside there...

It wasn't good.