Disclaimer: Hiromu Arakawa owns FMA. I, however, own this fanfic.
Chapter One: Roy Mustang Curses His Bad Memory
It had been several months since Alphonse Elric was returned to his human body, and not a day passed by that his brother was not thankful for this. Leaning back in his office chair, 17-year-old Brigadier General Edward Elric sighed contentedly. He had a lot to be thankful for. His brother was back, the Sins had either died or disappeared, and both he and his brother had been promoted. Al was even a state alchemist now, alias the SoulReaver Alchemist from his experience trapped in the armour.
Edward grinned slightly. The only downside was that both Elrics had to go for scientific tests twice a year, but that wasn't so bad. Do a physical; take a psychological quiz, then free for another six months. Ed clenched his auto-mail hand - that and his fake leg were the only other downsides - and stretched. Being promoted meant lots of paperwork. Paperwork meant lots of free time. Free time meant lots of opportunities to:
a) taunt Fuhrer Roy Mustang,
b) dodge the paper fireballs he throws,
c) whine to his secretary, Riza Mustang, or Hawkeye as most people still called her,
d) roar with laughter as the Fuhrer begins doing paperwork to avoid the wrath of Mr. Clicky,
e) run hurriedly away from the office to avoid being shot in the head by said gun, Mr. Clicky,
f) stretch and sigh contentedly, trying to think up another activity to waste the day away.
Edward sighed again and scratched his head. Alphonse, for some yet unexplained reason, didn't have to come to work until lunchtime (about two or three hours ago, by Edward's stomach (which was, for once, accurate)), so Ed couldn't interrupt his work, identical to his older brother's except said brother finished all his work in the wee hours of the morning.
Which, in reality, meant about 10:30 am.
And, if possible, later.
Ed stood up and began walking around his office, musing. Maybe Al didn't have to come until later because he was a colonel, and not yet a general.
A colonel that was also a state alchemist, who also happened to be under his brother's command, but still, just a colonel.
Albeit a colonel that did all the chores at home and made sure his older brother got to work on time.
'Maybe that's it. Maybe the Fuhrer knows how much work Al does at home, that's why he's allowed to come in later.'
'That, and he has less work to do.'
'But really, generals don't get that much work. Barely enough to even be called that.'
'On the other hand, though, generals probably have to come in earlier because people look up to us. Upholding the life of the military and all that crap. You know, setting an example.'
'But if that's the case, then the Fuhrer really ought to get his act in gear. Making origami animals instead of working. Plain stupidity.'
'Unless he's the bad example, and I'm the good one.'
'It's a good thing I don't know how to do origami.'
'Not that I would, in any stretch of the imagination, start slacking off instead of working.'
'I get enough free time as it is.'
Sigh.
'Sometimes I wish one of the Sins had survived, then we could go and kill it or something.'
Pause.
Slap forehead repeatedly.
'No. No. NO! Do NOT think that! I'm thankful that all the sins are dead! What am I saying, wanting one alive? It's better for everyone that they're dead, dead, DEAD!'
Sigh.
'But it is awfully boring around here, with nothing to do. Makes me yearn for some excitement.'
Pause.
Sit down and slouch in office chair, gazing idly at the ceiling.
'I could phone Winry.'
Pause.
'But then she'd go on and on about auto-mail and such. She might even-'
Wince.
'But wrenches can't pass through phone lines, can they.'
Stroke chin thoughtfully.
'But, say, you somehow transmuted it into wires, and moved those wrench/wires through the phone wires to the other side, and transmuted the wrench/wires back into a wrench.'
'Hmmm.'
'Of course, it would take a LOT of energy, and might even short-circuit everything else.'
'But through a short distance…'
'Hmmm.'
Edward Elric, struck with inspiration, picked up his phone and began dialing his brother's extension. Hopefully, Al would remember this great idea so that it could be put into practice immediately.
The thought of writing it down never crossed his mind.
No, Edward Elric was not unintelligent.
No, he did not like to inflict mental torture on his younger sibling.
Yes, he had, at times, a one-track mind.
Example: Want ice cream?
Call Al.
Feeling depressed?
Call Al.
Got a great idea and don't want to forget it?
Call Al.
Simple, yet effective.
Unfortunately, Edward never got to speak with his brother about his great idea, because just when he started dialing, someone slammed open the door, growled, and ran off.
Ed sat there, staring at the now-open door, mouth slightly agape, eyes blinking uncomprehendingly. One thought raced through his mind.
'Call Al.'
Well, two thoughts.
'Call Al.'
'What the hell was that?'
'I don't know. Call Al'.
'What the hell was that?'
'Call Al.'
'Okay.'
'What the hell was that?'
'Okay.'
'I don't know.'
'Call Al.'
No, Edward Elric was not dim-witted.
No, he did not have slow reflexes.
Yes, he does get surprised when some random person slams open his door and growls at him before running off.
Yes, he did have a solution for this.
'Call Al.'
But Jean Havoc had a better one.
"Yo! Ed!"
"Havoc! What was that?"
"We think she's a terrorist. She's looking for the Fuhrer."
"He can handle her."
"Maybe she's an innocent and is just a bit soft in the head! We don't want her fried to a crisp!"
"Oh. Right."
"Come on!"
And so that is how Brigadier General Edward Elric, age 17, found himself running with a crowd of other military personnel, chasing someone who may or may not be a terrorist.
One thought raced through his mind.
'Why haven't I called Al yet?''Oh, please.'
'What?''I'm a bit more preoccupied about this terrorist person, thank you.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah.'
'A girl terrorist?''Yeah, why?'
'Hmmm…''What?'
'I wonder if she's hot?'
'Shut up!'
'Call Al and ask him.'
'Like hell I will!'
'Why not?'
'He won't know, stupid.'
'Oh.'
'Duh.'
'So you're running after her to find out first-hand?'
'I. Told. You. To. Be. QUIET!'
'…Fine…'
'Idiot.'
Thus ended the mental battle.
No, Edward Elric was not insane.
No, he did not say all that out loud.
Yes, the author of this story really likes to repeat herself.
Yes, she will start to write about the story's actual plot now.
Finally!Oh, be quiet.
----------------------------In the Fuhrer's Office--------------------------------------
Roy Mustang, Fuhrer, looked up from his paperwork.
"Hawkeye, did you hear that?"
"Hmm? What is it, sir?"
"…No, it's nothing."
However, a few moments later, said nothing slammed open the door and went open up to Mustang's desk.
"Fuhrer, I have important info-"
SLAM!
The door forcibly opened yet again and what seemed like every military officer in Central Headquarters stormed in, led by Havoc and the Elric brothers.
No, Edward Elric had not told his brother about his good idea yet.
No, he did not ask him if the girl terrorist was hot.
Yes, the author will stop using these annoying stalling techniques and get back to the story.
"What is the meaning of this!" Mustang roared, even though he was mentally thanking the girl for providing a distraction against cursed paperwork.
The girl turned around and glared at everyone for a bit before facing Mustang again. "As I was saying-"
"Freeze! Get your elbows on the ground and your hands in the air!"
The girl's eye twitched. Spinning around, she glared at the crowd again. "Who said that?"
No one spoke up, probably scared from her twitching eye, dangerous voice, and hands that were forming into fists.
A small voice in the back of Mustang's head mentioned something about this girl being important somehow, but his dominant side, the one with the male ego and obsession with miniskirts, squashed this with other, seemingly more important thoughts.
'Who is this girl?'
'What is she doing here?'
'Why isn't she wearing a miniskirt?'
'Unless she's butt-ugly. Oh God, don't let her wear a miniskirt if she's butt-ugly!'
'She doesn't seem ugly, though. At least not from this angle.'
'Shame about the twitchy eye.'
"Oh, I get it," the girl laughed mirthlessly, a hollow sound. "You thought I was a terrorist of some sort, here to attack the Fuhrer. News flash, people: I'm not stupid."
Ka-chuck.
The girl twitched. Most people would be scared to pieces when they heard the safety get clicked off a hundred guns at once. But this girl wasn't like that. She was more the type to go ballistic.
"You're threatening to shoot me?-! ME?-! After I walked five hours in the pouring rain, after I spent FOREVER getting here, you're threatening to shoot me?-!-? What is this!-?-!" Both her eyes were twitching now, and she was foaming at the mouth. "Is security around here really that lax?-! Am I supposed to understand that none of you recognize me?-!-?-!"
Mustang's sensible side (yes, he did have one) began panicking. 'No no no no no, please don't let it be that girl. Please, God, don't let it be her. I'd do anything, even give up miniskirts!'
At this, Mustang's ego rose up and protested with all its might. 'Never! I'll never give up miniskirts!'
'I would if my life were being threatened!'
'No! Not in a million years!''I might not even live another second, let alone a million years!'
'Miniskirts!''Life!'
'Miniskirts!''Life!'
'Miniskirts!''LIFE!'
'MINISKIRTS!'This raging internal battle going through the Fuhrer's head made his facial features twitch a little, until he had an expression that imitated that which might be on the face of a constipated cat.
Unfortunately, he couldn't quite pull it off, and resembled something that looked more like a mad cow.
It was hard to tell which was scarier, the look on Roy's face or the girl going crazy standing in front of him.
A girl going crazy whom was also shouting.
Loudly.
"Do I have to do my demon eyes on you people?-!-?-!-?"
Okay, scratch the last statement. The deranged girl was definitely scarier.
Something about the way her sopping wet hair fell into her wild eyes gave her a maniacal look.
Think Barry the Chopper.
Without the suit of armour, strange speech habits and bad taste in fashion.
But other than that, they would've been identical.
Except he was a guy, and she was a girl.
He was a soul attachment, and she was human. Or seemed to be.
He was evil and she was…well, it hadn't been determined whether or not she was actually evil yet, or just very annoyed (to put it lightly).
There was also the other little fact about Barry enjoying the physical act of chopping a person into little pieces, and this girl hadn't murdered anyone yet.
Yet.
But if looks could kill…
"Aaagh!" The girl howled in anger, or maybe in frustration of the author's many different stalling techniques. They were getting annoying.
"I'm gonna do my demon eyes! Look!" The girl pushed her hair out of her face and blinked a couple of times. Once she stopped blinking everyone could see her eyes clearly.
Or lack of them.
Her eyes were completely white, pupils and irises nowhere in sight.
Everyone stood up straight very, very quickly, dropped their guns, and threw a salute. The Elric brothers decided to follow suit, thinking that anyone who could get both Hawkeye and Mustang to straighten up and salute, they must be dangerous.
All personnel, including the Fuhrer, his secretary, and the Elrics, spoke with one voice.
"Sorry, very sorry Sir! Please forgive us, Sir! Very, very sorry! Sir!"
The girl began blinking rapidly again, and soon her eyes were back to normal.
"Now," she spoke in a quiet, dangerous voice. Everyone else scarcely breathed, because they knew that if they missed this, they would pay.
"Now, I want everyone to leave this room except the Fuhrer and those he deems strong enough. NOW."
In a flurry of movement, the room was suddenly clear of all types. No one wanted to stay, fearing what the girl meant by 'strong'. Soon, all that was left standing there were Roy, Riza, Edward, and Alphonse. And, of course, the mysterious girl.
The girl turned and went back over to Mustang's desk. "I can't believe you people forgot who I was. Me! I only saved the lives of a couple hundred people, and they go and forget about it. I traveled God knows how many miles in the freezing sleet and pouring rain, coming to share my information. I at least expected some sort of welcome."
"Maybe," Mustang squeaked, slowly sitting back down. "Maybe if you didn't come barreling in here, not even talking to anyone, maybe then people would think harder and remember who you are."
"I mean, come on," the girl grumbled, ignoring Mustang's statement. "The guy at the gate wouldn't even let me in. 'Sorry, Miss, but I need to see you're I.D. first.' I'd been robbed, dammit! No money, no I.D., nothing! I actually had to spar the guy before he'd open the gate. Good thing I'm pretty weak right now, or he'd have been mincemeat." She stopped her ranting and glared at Mustang. "But even you, Mustang, even you forgot me. What do I have to do to get people to remember me? Get myself blown up?" She shook her head sadly. "I pity the military, having to repeat orders so that people remember them." She sighed. "Alas. Good thing I didn't totally explode. That would have been really…" She paused for drama. "…tragic."
And so that is how Fuhrer Roy Mustang, age 31, found himself cursing his bad memory.
Next chappie we'll actually start having a plot to this!