(no subject)

[pegunicent]

 he sits in the chair patiently, waiting, a small quirked grin on his face because he's won.

The trial had lasted a year. 

Deliberations almost two months. 

The verdict came down just as he wanted. Guilty. Execution. 

The obituary was already typed up, the headstone read 'Loving husband...'

She loads the first syringe and her hands don't tremble. She'd argued, she'd *plead* but there was too much circumstantial evidence against her. 

The youngest, and last Fuher of Amestris will meet his god under her needles, because that is *justice* and someone else might screw it up. 

//I've never killed anyone before.// She confides quietly, loading the second syringe. //I can't tell you how much I *hate* you for making me do this.//

//I'm sorry.// He says, and she almost believes it except that he's put up no resistance, no defense and his eyes are s *clear*... "Blame the parliament. I didn't give you the order."

For a moment her vision blurred to much to find the last syringe. "Bastard! You made Parliament! All your fault! All your fault! I'm doctor! I HELP! I help..." she bit back the sob as her whole body shook.

"Then help Amestris. Help the nation heal." 

It took her five deep breaths before she could scrub her eyes clear and force her hands steady enough to load the last syringe. The IV was already in place. She stepped up, the members behind the glass window had their nice clear view of her breakdown and how she still took each needle and dutifully injected it into the man she'd followed for years. First the muscle relaxer, enough to paralyze. Then the blood thinner to aid the last, final shot of painless death, enough morphine to kill a man three times his size. 

"Thank you... Doctor..."