Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, AL would get to keep his kittens. Lots and lots of them. However, Ed makes him give them up for seriously weak arguments ('no way to keep them' my foot!), therefore I must not own FMA.

Prologue

"The Fuhrer's promised what?" Ed asked in complete disbelief.

"The one who wins the upcoming Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII tournament gets promoted four ranks." Al repeated patiently.

"What a stupid idea." Ed decided, turning back to face the wall to polish his arm some more. The shine of it was very important. For alchemical purposes.

"That is precisely what Lieutenant-Corporal Hughes said you would say, Nii-san." Al continued. "He also said it was rather strange, considering what four ranks would put you at."

"What?" Ed asked when Al appeared to be saying no more.

"He said for you to think about it. And he said Colonel Mustang wants to see you."

"Colonel Mustang?" Ed repeated, leaping up in fury. His voice deepened as he aped his superior taking a crack at his voice. Al tuned out, but the irritated imitation stopped mid-sentence. "Colonel Mustang?" Ed asked, suddenly pensive. "Y'know, if I won, I'd be Major-General Edward Elric."

Al waited.

"YAHOO!" Ed shouted, jumping upward punching the air. "Oh yeah! Take that! Major-General, Mustang! In your face!"

"Brother?" Al asked, trotting to keep up as Ed sprinted towards the mess hall, where Al had told him the sign-up sheet was. "Nii-san, are you all right?"

"Major General." Ed muttered, grinning madly.

Chapter 1

Roy Mustang, after a brief and tiresome meeting with that harebrained Ed, strode in his typical Aloof and Solitary manner into the mess hall. It was buzzing today, he noted. Everyone was deliberately not clustering around the notice board, which was particularly suspicious, as most days there were at least a few people checking up on news. Not that Mustang needed such venues. He was half way across the hall when he overheard a snatch of conversation that brought him up short.

"Strong-Arm…Silver Bullet…Fullmetal…joined…and Silver…"

Mustang stormed over to the notice board, noticing several fingers jammed at it.

Attention All Military Officers!

Ever wanted to be recognized for your secret talents? Or just raised above the rank of a rival? Now is your chance! By order of the Fuhrer, a video gaming tournament has been declared, focused around the Fuhrer's personal favorite game, Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII. The winner of this tournament will be promoted

FOUR

RANKS!

Promoted four ranks? And that upstart Fullmetal, Edward Elric, was on the list, Mustang saw, the name scrawled in handwriting typical of children Ed's size. Four ranks? That would make Ed –

Major General.

This would never do.

Mustang snatched a pen from nearby – never mind that it was from the hand of another alchemist – and carefully wrote his name below Ed's. His handwriting, he noted, was much better than Fullmetal's.

"He signed up?" Ed asked, horrified.

"That's what I said." Al replied, tired of repeating himself.

Ed, who had been reclining, satisfied in the belief that, as he was the best alchemist, he could easily beat all the other challengers, fell off his perch at the edge of the bed. That happened when one tried to sit up in two directions at once.

"He. Can. Not. Win." Ed informed Al.

"Of course you'll win, brother. You're the best."

"Of course I am!" Ed gloried briefly. "But if that Colonel is in on it, I've got to smear him. Into the ground. Let's get a practice session." He leapt for the door. Al quickly dodged out of his way before following.

"What is Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII, anyway?" Ed added as they headed for the gaming rooms.

Armstrong and Fuery, longtime UFB practice partners, looked down at Ed and smirked. Fuery was particularly happy with this arrangement as a) he usually didn't get to smirk and b) he usually didn't get to look down at anyone.

"You want to practice with us, eh?" Armstrong asked after some time. "Well, you can't. UFB is one – or two-player only. That's mostly why the tournament's taking place over three days."

Al clapped a gauntlet around Ed's face and spoke for him. "My brother would not intrude, but he needs to know the controls. After he's gotten them down and beaten you, I'm sure he would move on."

Fuery looked for a time at the overly egotistical Ed and his idolizing sibling and thought. If Ed was as good as Ed thought Ed was, then it wouldn't be an issue for long. And once he knew the controls, he was bound to dump them anyway. Perhaps he would transmute a control set bigger so Al could help him train. Al playing a video game? Fuery could almost see those huge gauntlets tapping madly at an oversized control set. Although throwing it down if he lost would be problematic, but that was Ed's problem. Hmm. Ed's problem. Oh, yes, Fuery was making a decision.

"Lieutenant Fuery!" Mustang's voice called. The distant Colonel was surveying the overcrowded gaming room with distaste. And an expression that clearly said he had a new argument to make Fuery do his paperwork for him.

"Ah – be right back." A thought struck Fuery. "All right, we'll train you." He added. Armstrong looked oddly at him. "On one condition."

"What?" Ed asked.

Fuery held out the kitten he'd been concealing under his military jacket.