Scar could pinpoint the exact moment his sanity fractured. Waking up in the makeshift hospital, his head throbbing as if it had been split open, and realizing that his arm was no longer his own. He killed those doctors without a second thought for just being Amesterian, ignoring the screams of the other patients. Even the little voice in his head that shouted the doctors were helping him got lost in the deafening shatter of his mind.
Now, standing on a ravaged street corner staring down the doctors’ daughter, Scar heard that little voice telling him to explain the pain and sorrow, the insanity that drove him to that act. Once more, he ignored the voice, thinking that his actions then were as heinous as anything the Amestrian army had done. He thought about the boy with her, a young man he had nearly destroyed for the mere sake of Elric’s vocation. It had seemed right then.
Weeks of traveling with a foreign princess seemed to have done something to him, reconnected his mind. Now, his battle with the young alchemist felt less like righteous vengeance and more like senseless violence. Elric would only have been a boy at the time. He wasn’t the true enemy, like Gran, or Silver, or like the ones who had escaped him, Mustang and Armstrong.
As the girl points the gun, Scar knew something is different. He was changing once more and he had no idea who this man will turn out to be.