FicWad

Changed For Good

Prologue

It is said by some people that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world can cause hurricanes on the other.

It is said by other people that some people are idiots.

Others say that there is no such thing as chance, that everything that was and is and will be was predetermined long ago, and that fighting destiny is pointless.

And others say that a god trying to impose fate on people is like shooting an arrow into a river; you can see the target, but the currents of free will can, and often do, pull the arrow off course.

But there is no denying that the things we do have consequences, repercussions; for good or ill, regardless of intentions, everything we do is connected in an intricate spider-web of cause and effect, action and reaction.

Cut one line, and watch the spider react . . .

***

She was beautiful, walking down the street. Short, petite, delicate, a woman with the frame and grace of a young girl; sleek black hair, creamy complexion, dressed in a white summer dress that fairly floated, cloudlike, around her shapely legs . . . Beautiful.

Of course, they were all beautiful. The more beautiful, the better, in his opinion; the purest, the cleanest, the most innocent; they were by far and away the most fun to have, under the knife . . . he imagined what she would look like, this gently smiling porcelain doll, sun shining full on her, eyes wide with the razzle-dazzle of the city streets; what she would look like, after a night in his care: face torn, body splayed, white dress turned scarlet, with not a trace of pristine purity remaining.

The man known as Barry the Chopper licked his lips, narrowed his eyes, and shifted his position, following the girl with his gaze, waiting for the right moment.

"Hey, babe, h-h-howareya?!"

A heavy, rough hand landed on Barry's shoulder, and he jumped, almost forgetting to put his voice into falsetto as he whirled to snap at the man behind him.

"Hey, hands off, ape-face!"

--Was what he wanted to say, but the stink of sweat and cheap beer hit him like a wave, and all he could do was gag.

"Howzabout you'n'I go'n getta drink?"

This guy must be really drunk/, thought Barry, /if he mistakes disgust for interest. My disguise must be better than I thought. He smirked. "Sorry, pal, but I'm not interested."

Apparently, the creature (who had several dozen pounds and at least one foot of advantage over Barry, plus an apelike frame and at least 2 kegs of beer in him) only caught about every other word, because his face broke into a wide grin. "Great! Lessssgo, babe."

And then, to Barry's immense surprise and irritation, the creature put his huge, hairy arm around Barry's shoulders and started steering him towards the nearest pub.

Barry hated to break character, but desperate times, desperate measures.

Employing the same tactics his victims sometimes attempted to use on him (though never very successfully), Barry delivered three speedy blows: stilettoed heel to booted toe, sharp elbow to bulging gut, and wigged head to jutting chin. The drunken man grunted in pain and reeled back, trying to hold his foot, his stomach, and his jaw in his hands and finding himself a bit understaffed. Cursing and wincing, he stepped backward, allowing Barry to deliver one sharp, final blow to the back of his head, laying the man out like an expert prizefighter. The big gorilla landed facedown in a mud puddle, showering those around him with stinking, murky water.

Several women, seeing this, broke into scattered applause and cheers; apparently Barry was not the only one to have suffered the buffoon's advances. But he wasn't paying any attention to them. He scanned the streets for his target, the angelic vision he'd seen earlier; but she was gone. In the few minutes he'd been distracted, she'd slipped away.

Barry sighed. Well, you couldn't win em all. Wincing and rubbing the back of his head - the bastard's chin had been unusually sharp - he limped back to his truck, observing, as he got in and shut the door, that not only had he broken a heel in the tussle, but his dress was also now covered in mud.

He sighed again. It seemed it just wasn't his day.

***

Flap. Flap. Flap.

***

The hand of God (or arrow of fate, or butterfly of destiny, as some would have it), thrown off course, started drifting. It came to rest, invisible, beside a conversation being had not far away, between a lanky, brown haired man, and a young boy with hair and eyes like polished gold.

Maes Hughes sat back ins seat and looked across the room at Edward. "The chimera definitely said one thing . . . 'Give me death.'"

He saw Edward's eyes widen suddenly in surprise; then the boy's expression hardened, and he cast his eyes downward.

"After that, it didn't eat anything and died." Maes added, shrugging.

" . . . Why did Mr. Tucker think of creating something like that?" Ed whispered, almost to himself.

Maes shrugged again. "I don't know . . . But there was someone in the military who thought it could be used . . ."

He could almost see the wheels turning inside Ed's skull, but could only guess as to what the boy was thinking. "What about Mr. Tucker's wife?" Ed asked suddenly.

Maes blinked. Tucker's wife . . . "Oh, the one who died before he came to Central City? . . . Am I wrong?" he added, quirking an eyebrow at Ed's shocked expression.

Ed chewed his lip. "No . . . never mind."

Maes didn't buy it, but he decided not to press the issue. It wasn't his business. (Of course, his /job /was to investigate things that weren't his business, that was why he was in /Investigations/, but he still didn't want to badger Ed right then.) "Okay, well . . . hey, why don't you come for dinner tonight?" His face lit up at the idea; yeah, Ed looked like he could use a relaxing evening. "Bring Alphonse, too. I think perhaps spending all that time with Tucker is making you a little paranoid, hmm?"

Edward laughed a little. Spending time with Tucker right now would make anybody nervous. "Yeah . . . okay, that sounds good." He smiled. "We'll both be here this evening. But I should go now, if I want to get Al and be back here in time."

"Oh, of course," Maes said, standing and walking him to the door. "Don't be late!' he added as Ed hurried down the path, "She's making pasta!"

End of prologue