On January 19th, Colonel Roy Mustang died.
He didn't die of natural causes, oh no—the old man clung to life tenaciously. Even when six rounds of a revolver had been emptied into his chest by a certain not-at-all-short State Alchemist. Unfortunately for the Colonel, because he ended up being in more pain. Fortunately for the Fullmetal Alchemist, this meant he got to CUT OFF THE COLONEL'S HEAD! He then danced on the Colonel's cold, dead chest for a while, and stuck the head on a pike so everyone would know that the evil Colonel had been killed in a horrible and painful fashion befitting how utterly bastardly he was! The Fullmetal Alchemist was then hailed a hero by everyone under the Colonel's command because they were so thrilled to see him dead. They had a parade, and the Fullmetal Alchemist got to sit higher than anyone else and watch, not because he was short, because he wasn't, but because that was the seat of honor.
It was a wonderful day, the day the Colonel died. Definitely it was the best early birthday present Edward Elric had ever given himself. And everyone lived happily ever after.
Roy put down the story and looked up at the sulking Fullmetal Alchemist. "You wrote this?" he inquired.
Ed glared. "Yeah," he said with a voice like a dagger's edge, daring Mustang to say something, to somehow challenge him or punish him for his flagrant display of disrespect.
But Roy merely glanced over the story again, and smirked. "My chest wouldn't be cold for some hours, Fullmetal. You should check your medical facts next time."