Roy was now in the old stable where his horse was kept. He stared at the horse and his saddle, set aside, thoughtfully. A man latching the saddle onto the horse interrupted his thoughts. It was his old deputy, Jean Havoc. Roy just stood there perplexed at Havoc’s actions.
“Havoc, why are you saddling my horse?”
“Because, Marshal,” Havoc solemnly replied; the hard look in his eyes almost gave him the appearance of having drank too much. “You’re getting out of here. It’s best for you, and for the town. Heck, what’ll become of your wife? I saw what a mess you were between Lust dumping you and meeting Riza. And what if you get killed?! She’ll rip you a new one the moment she gets to heaven and sees you, that’s for sure.”
“I’m aware of that, Havoc, but I can’t let Greed push me around like this!”
“You don’t have any say in it; if I have to punch you out, you're getting on that hoss – wait, what’s a hoss?” It’s cowboy slang for a horse. “Oh… thank you random narrator-author-person.” You’re very welcome. Why is the author arguing with the characters through narration now? The other format was getting tiring and she doesn’t want to make this one-shot any longer than it already is.
Long story short, Roy and Havoc had a fistfight, in which Roy won and left Havoc lying in the barn, the horse still saddled.
Dejected and feeling almost hopeless, Roy walked into the sheriff station. It was only a few minutes left until noon, and once that clock struck twelve, his bride would be gone forever and he was toast. This was later confirmed when his current deputy at the time, Maes Hughes, backed out on him after hearing there would be no backup. But Roy couldn’t blame him; he had a wife and child, after all. It wouldn’t be fair to them if the man of the house died over trying to help settle Roy’s mess. The last thing he did before writing out his will, was releasing the town drunk, Gluttony.
“Do you know if the saloon’s open, Marshal?” He asked just as he was about to leave the door.
“I said go home.”
And with that, he wrote a brief document, titled “The Last Will and Testament of Marshal Roy Mustang.” Soon enough, it was time. A timid young boy of about fifteen climbed up from a lower level of the building.
“Sorry Marshal, I couldn’t get any reinforcements. But I’ll fight with you! I beat Ed in our sparring matches nearly every time! I can take ‘em!” Roy looked down at the boy sternly. It was obvious he wouldn’t let him do it.
“Al, I can’t. First, your brother would kill me if you had so much as a scratch on you. Second, have you even handled a gun?”
“… No. But I have alchemy!”
“But Greed has guns, Alphonse! GUNS! If you could do it with a clap of the hands like your brother, maybe, but not even that would be fast enough.”
“Please, I can –“
“No, and that’s my final answer!”
The clock struck twelve.
