The Same Coin

A Corrupted Form of Possession

Elsewhere...

Winry drove the truck with care, mindful of how she drove. She had been on the road for hours, but before setting out she had picked up a few caffeine-heavy canned drinks for the trip, and they left her body and mind thrumming pleasantly. The highway had long since emptied of vehicles the further she had traveled away from Yorknew City, and now she spotted other vehicles only sporadically. The truck had a GPS mounted on the dashboard, and it told her she was growing close to her destination.

That Chrollo had entrusted her like this — with the fruits of their labor — without hesitation or condition spoke more loudly than any other single action in her entire life. Had Ed even trusted her like this, ever? No. If he had, he wouldn't have tried to hide so much from her for so many years — and he'd have known better than to assume she had done the unspeakable in alchemy. Did Hisoka trust her this much?

That was harder to dwell on. What Feitan said hadn't left her; "I didn't think Hisoka could trust someone enough to let them get that close." But did Hisoka genuinely trust her, or was his expression of trust merely a corrupted form of possession? She had spent months with him, trained with him, removed his arm and given him a new one, she'd had sex with him. Did he trust her? She'd told Feitan and the Troupe he didn't, but the truth was she didn't know, and she knew him well enough to realize she couldn't assume.

But her situation was painting itself more and more clearly with every passing day. Chrollo and Hisoka were on a collision course, and if she wasn't careful she would find herself in their path. Instinct told her that neither man would hesitate to kill her, however, if she were an obstacle en route to one another. There was a knot in her gut, for what if she had to choose a side? What if she had to choose one of the two men to throw her support behind if it ever came to it? Who could she trust to win?

Hisoka Morow, or Chrollo Lucilfer?

Her phone, lying flat on the dashboard, lit up dimly in the dark and vibrated loudly against the hard plastic. Winry did a double take, glancing down once, then giving a much longer look as her throat constricted.

It was Hisoka again.

Winry hesitated before she reached out and silenced the call. The cab of the truck plunged into darkness once more. She half expected him to try to call again, but he didn't. It was still hard to breathe as she turned on her directional when she took the exit for her destination.

Glam Gas Land, 15 miles.