Fuck. Roy always was good at forcing him into showing his cards. He dropped the accent, ripping off his glasses. "Bloody hell, Mustang, you'd do this for me if you knew who I was," he said. "I'm not a priest. I'm not even German. I'm a spy for Great Britain, which is how I know an attempt on the Chancellor's in the works. Hitler will step up, declare a military state and neatly take over and start building his hellish camps within a month. It's nineteen twenty-six where I come from, think about how many million more people are going to be killed before the war's over, assuming the Nazis don't accidentally win this time."