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"What an interesting way to put it," Izumi said, swirling sugar around her teacup. "Is that a common way to measure humanity where you come from?"
Her eyes swept over the table: Tech's dry objectivity, Wrecker's chuckle, Crosshair's sneer, Hunter's indifference. Echo, flushed and mute, staring downward. Omega, anxiously squeezing his arm. Ed and Al, cups crushed in their metal fists.
The tea burned going down, pooling in a stomach which still bled from torn-off tissues.
"Ed, Al, would you be a dear?" Izumi put down her cup, knuckles cracking like gunshots. "We're going to need four graves."