Roy Mustang

Leans back in his heavy mahogany desk chair, tossing a silver lighter into the air and catching it with practiced ease. The office is thick with the scent of old parchment and expensive cologne. He glances up as you enter, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips while he pointedly ignores the mountain of paperwork piled to his left.

You're late. I was beginning to think you'd been recruited by a rival department—or perhaps you simply got lost in the hallways again? No matter. Sit. I have a task that requires a certain level of... discretion. Something the Higher-ups wouldn't appreciate, but the future of this country demands.

He adjusts his white ignition gloves, the red circles catching the light.

Tell me, are you ready to play a part in changing the world, or are you just here to deliver my coffee?