Disclaimer: I am totally Hiromu Arakawa and am writing fan fiction even though it would make more sense to just produce another manga. Derp.

World: Follows the 2003 anime

Chapter 1: Not THAT Kind of Moving...

Melissa had an uncharacteristic spring in her step as she headed toward the gymnasium. It was the day of the prom, and she was excited for the reactions when everyone attended the event she had orchestrated. She could already picture their awestruck faces. The prom committee had worked long and hard; behind her back, Melissa was labeled with epithets like "slave-driver," "anal," and "severe OCD". The decorations and set-up, immaculate thanks to her finicky nature, required only the finishing touches before the event tonight. She whistled off-beat, confident they would finish in time, and pushed through the gym's double-door entrance.

"Alright guys, I don't want any slacking off—" she began, only to stop mid-sentence. The committee members were all gathered around a... something a few feet in front of her. When it clicked in her head what this something was, her face became fire engine red. "DAK MACKIE, I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!"


"Condoms," said Vice Principal Woodrow. He sat at his office desk, which was mahogany and cluttered. He gave no indication that he had just deadpanned an awkward word, his visage devoid of emotion.

Dak was sitting in front of his desk, uncomfortable in the back-less chair. Dak was short for Dakota. She had long, sinewy black hair; it was as if she had been a castaway on a deserted island and neglected to cut it. Truth be told, ain't nobody got time for hair. (No stupid, she washes her hair. ...But that's about it.) She possessed cobalt blue eyes that were like beacons on her face, contrasting against a fair complexion.

Additionally, her attire was as perfunctory as her hair. She was clad in cuffed jean shorts, a baggy yellow jacket, and masculine dark brown, lace-up ankle boots. None of the articles of clothing really matched, and so one got the impression she had carelessly thrown something on. This was somewhat true.

Currently, the 5"4, slender girl was experimenting with different positions on the chair. She hoped she wouldn't have back pains later.

"If I turn into a hunchback when I'm older, I will sue this school," Dak promised.

"Uh-huh," said the principal disinterestedly. "Dak. Condoms," he repeatedly blandly, the restrained tone like a calm before the storm.

"Aha!" Dak exclaimed triumphantly when she found comfort in a position that was too intricate to describe. She should do yoga!

"CONDOMS! Are you kidding me? CONDOMS?!" the Vice Principal exploded, and Dak wished she had turned on the intercom while he wasn't looking... Oh well, anyone within range probably heard it loud and clear. Too funny.

"Man, someone out there probably thinks you're throwing a hissy fit because you don't wanna wear a condom during intercourse," remarked Dak nonchalantly.

Mr. Woodrow sat back down, a pink dust on his cheeks the only clue to his embarrassment. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I do."

Mr. Woodrow blinked. "You do?" She normally beat around the bush, and the easy surrender was suspicious.

"Yeah," she said. "So please, don't give me the talk. The internet has guided me for a long time."

He shook his head. Of course, he should have known. "There should be a law against your access to the internet. Then maybe you would not have placed a sizable pile of condoms on the gym floor and replaced the banner with one that said "Prevent Teen Pregnancy". Popping all of the balloons, tearing down the streamers and doodling on the table cloth with the art skills of a first grader have nothing to do with it, though."

Dak looked sincerely affronted. She tilted her chin up with defiance. "Hey, I worked hard on my pandas! I even drew a whole family. The father George, his wife Mary, the eldest son Aaron, the middle child..."

"Wait, those were pandas?" he interjected.

"Everyone's a critic." She sniffed.

"I thought they were raccoons, frankly," he said.

"How in the world did you mistake my masterpieces for raccoons?" Dak grumbled.

"Well its leg looked like a tail—Dak! That's not the problem here!"

"Right, Mr. Woodrow. What were you saying?" she chirped.

The older man leaned forward, expression now super serious. "I have dealt with this time and again. I have told you over and over and made you suffer the consequences. Your pranks need to stop. You know, Melissa worked very hard on that prom and now she's had to postpone it. And many, many students were looking forward to it. They splurged so much money to prepare."

A subtle breach could be seen in her carefree veneer, alluding to a guilt-ridden face underneath. Woodrow noticed this slip-up and took advantage of it. He met her eyes with a disappointed stare, and murmured, "Do you not understand how negatively these pranks affect the people around you, Dak?"

Dak's witty dialogue was lost on her, leaving tentative silence in its wake. Her gaze seemed to extend beyond this room, far into the distance. Woodrow waited patiently, familiar with her deep-thinking trances. Despite everything—the jokes and the ignorance and the flippant dismissals—he learned in time that Dak was not unscrupulous.

It emphasized the question: Why? Why then, did the habit never cease, and she continued to hurt people? Why was it that she clearly enjoyed it yet simultaneously hated herself for it?

Dak didn't know; all she knew was that she felt happiest when she was creating pandemonium. And if she had a conscience, it was overpowered by the entertainment of troublemaking. She had no intention of changing, so people needed to give up already. It wasn't happening.

"You already know the answer to that question," she spoke at last, referring to the million other times he had posed it. She smirked good-naturedly.

"Then why do you continue to do this?" he asked with bridled exasperation.

She shrugged.

Mr. Woodrow sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to dispel a headache. "To be honest with you," he spoke solemnly, "some of your schemes blow me away. You have so much imagination and intelligence. It's a damn shame you waste it all on this, and not positive things like oh, I don't know, your grades."

The routine game was boring now. His humdrum lectures, which were the same thing fed by every adult, were starting to give her a headache as well. "Just give me the nine days suspension and get it over with," she said.

But he ignored her, making her entertain the prospect of simply walking out. "Listen, you're a great kid," he prattled on. "You're a very interesting, unique kid. I like you, and I would like to help you. But this school can't afford any more of your antics."

Dak had been musing to herself that he could be so absorbed in his blathering he wouldn't even notice her slip out, when the last sentence caught her attention. "Wait, what?"

The principal gave her a look that was genuinely contrite, but didn't waver. His stare darkened as he told her, "Dakota Mackie, you are expelled. Don't come to school tomorrow. Or ever again." He folded his hands together, fingers intertwined.

An uncomprehending look much like the one she donned in math class settled on Dak's face. "Wow," she said after a moment, making him raise an inquisitive eyebrow. She grinned wide. "Great practical joke. I must be rubbing off on you."

Mr. Woodrow facepalmed. He was sure that somewhere, deep down, he was going to miss her. But right now, he wasn't feeling it. "I am not joking. Please leave."

"No way," she shot back, chuckling. "You love me." She folded her arms across her chest.

Mr. Woodrow mentally sighed. He knew if he wanted her to leave, he'd have to be harsh. "Get out of my office," he demanded again, an unspoken warning in his tone of voice. There was no other way but to be callous, because if he wasn't then the reality may never fully sink in. It pained him to do so, but this was the best way. She was a strong girl. She could deal with it.

Dak's eyes scanned his countenance for any sign of deceit. When the search turned up fruitless, the smarmy smirk slipped away. "You're serious," she stated flatly. He nodded. She fixed him with a glare and clenched her teeth. "Where will I go?" she asked, becoming shrill. There were no other public schools in this area.

"Away from this school. Didn't I make that clear?" He shot up from his chair and slammed his hands on his desk for emphasis, making Dak flinch. "Get out!" he yelled.

Dak goggled at him with enlarged eyes, taken aback by his out-of-character behavior. "Who lit the fuse on your tamp—"

"I swear I will drag you out," he threatened.

Her stare continued to linger for a few seconds before she slowly disentangled and extricated herself from the hunchback-producing chair. "Sorry," she said softly. "You know I'm slow. Bye, I guess." Her mouth upturned in a quavering, forced smile.

"Good-bye, Miss Mackie." He knew she would not miss the significance of using her surname. To his surprise, her sweet smile only widened. "I hope you learn from this and do your best out in the world."

"Suuure. Thanks for putting up with me." Then she turned, grabbed her backpack, and peacefully exited out the door. When the door issued a click, it felt like the announcement of the end of an odyssey.

He wondered if she would be the same after this.

All of a sudden, the door opened a crack and Dak poked her head through.

"How many times do I have to tell you to get out and stay out?!" Mr. Woodrow barked.

She showcased big, innocuous, pleading eyes for him. "Can I have a hug?"

No—she was not remotely changed from this.

"You most certainly can not!"

"Aww, c'mon. Everybody loves hugs."

"I'll hug you if you leave."

"I'm not falling for that."

"Get away from me. Dak, I said no. Dak, get off. DAK!"

"Aww, you're using my first name again! I knew you still loved me. Free hugs!"

"AAARGGHH!"


Dak pedaled at a moderate speed as her bike zipped past multiple average-sized houses. The wind she fermented herself spiraled through her hair, tangling the flaxen tresses further. Her breaths were labored and her thighs and calves ached, but she seldom slowed.

After school, she opted riding her bike home instead of the bus. She needed to blow off steam. Pedaling abreast of her was her friend Grayson. He had shaggy, chestnut brown hair and irises a dark brown that bordered on black. He was lanky and pale. They had been friends since eighth grade, when Dak pulled a practical joke he particularly admired. To this day, he was still more of an admirer than a friend, but her options were scant.

Dak had just finished divulging her expulsion to him.

"Well shit, Dak," he panted out, "I knew you would be expelled eventually, but not this soon." He shot her a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, I thought I needed a few more suspensions. I must've pushed it with the whole prom Grinch thing," Dak replied.

"You—okay?" he breathed.

"Not really. I mean, I liked the school. I'll miss the staff and some of the kids." Her lungs were also grappling for air. They would have to take a break soon.

"Even Melissa?" he joked.

She laughed. "She was one of my favorite, fiery victims. Besides, school was the one place I had lesser chance of dealing with the police when I caused problems," she added.

"I knew there was some other reason," he bantered. "Okay, pit stop."

Honestly, Dak didn't want to make a pit stop. She preferred to keep going, because her stirred-up feelings were expelled with every full rotation of the pedals, and exhaled in every strained breath.

But she complied, veering closer to the edge of the road and braking. Grayson followed suit, parking behind her. They both lingered, procuring air in ravenous gulps.

"You should work out more," Dak wheezed teasingly.

"You're one to talk," he countered.

They remained like that for about another minute, subsequently resuming with renewed vigor. Dak was glad to feel her hair swirling in a mini vortex again, to pump her legs aggressively, to feel her heart hammer, almost closing her eyes in rapture. But she'd probably crash that way.

"Sorry to be a sap, but it's gonna suck without you."

Dak smiled and fought down a blush. "We still live close. I'll visit."

"Yeah, but where are you gonna go to school?" His voice was crestfallen and doubtful.

"I guess I'll go cyber," Dak answered, starting to clam up. She hoped he wasn't going to say what she speculated he would.

But he did. "What if you'll have to move instead?"

"Won't happen," she said with finality, mostly trying to convince herself.

"You can't know for sure," he pointed out.

Dak was quiet. Damn it, Gray. Do you always have to be so straightforward?

"Oh crap, Dak," Grayson said suddenly, and she sensed that he was coming to a halt. Confused, she matched his receding pace. "Your dad is home. Early."

Her frantically beating heart leapt to her throat. Her father was frequently away on business trips, and wasn't supposed to be back until Wednesday. The fact that he was home prematurely could only mean one thing: He was informed about her expulsion.

His car was parked in their driveway. It was still running, too. Her father climbed out, shut the door, seemed to detect her presence, turned, and called out, "Dakota Belle Mackie, get in here now!"

He definitely knew.

Grayson wished her luck and proceeded to his house, which was nine blocks away.

"See you later," she had responded and was requited with the farewell. She pedaled into the driveway, halted and properly stored her bike in the garage. She went into the house, and was immediately greeted by her father. He was waiting at the doorway, arms crossed.

"Hi, Dad," she said with a smile.

"Don't 'Hi, Dad' me," he said, fixing a stern glare on her. "Come with me to the living room. You and I are having a talk." With that, he briskly led the way. Dak followed, going to the designated room for her earful. He sat on the couch and she plopped down next to him.

"Do you know what this is about?" he started.

"Yeah." She dropped her backpack at her feet. "You missed me so much, you came here early." If only that were true, she thought somberly.

"You know I miss you when I have to leave town. But this about your expulsion. Dakota—why?"

"Why was I expelled?" She swallowed.

He grimaced. "No, I've heard enough of that story, thank you. I want to know why you would crash a prom and dump condoms everywhere. Condoms!" He was overt about his bewilderment, looking incredulously at her.

"I was saving the world." Shut up, shut up. Be serious. "Allowing the, in kinder terms, jocks and preps to reproduce would put the world in grave danger." That's not serious. Okay, it kind of is. But still, shut up.

"That's not nice. I didn't raise you to be like this, Dakota. What you did was wrong and where the hell did you get the condoms?" he asked angrily.

Pulled them out of my ass. "Store. A few of them, actually. Sold them out," Dak said, her eyes downcast.

"I do not want you buying condoms! Otherwise, I'll simply do all the grocery shopping for you and I won't leave any money behind for you when I'm on trips. You won't have anything to spend on frivolities," he declared, and lightly grabbed her chin to drag her gaze back to his. "Do you understand me?" She nodded. "Great. Now what did you do wrong?" He released her chin.

Dak sighed. "One, I bought condoms. Two, I wrecked a prom and caused it to be postponed, crushing people's hopes and dreams. The school worked arduously on setting it up and others spent a lot of money on fancy dresses and tuxedoes and stuff, and I made it all go to waste." She felt like Mr. Woodrow was speaking through her.

"Were you aware of this before you did it?" he queried.

"Yeah."

"And you still did it because?"

"I don't know. It was fun." Dak guiltily averted her gaze sideways.

"Fun to crush hopes and dreams, as you put it," he scolded. "I'm sorry I'm not home all the time, Dakota—"

"I like to be called Dak," she said meekly.

"Dak," he echoed compliantly, "but this behavior has to stop. Now you're banned from the only school in town. What am I going to do?"

"They say cyber school is pretty good," she suggested beseechingly.

"No," he said, evoking Dak's heart that was impressively mobile today to drop her to stomach. His expression suddenly softened, and he consolingly palmed her shoulders. "I'm not condoning your expulsion, but this is admittedly convenient. I've been making arrangements to move for some time now."

"Wha..." A cocktail of emotions were passing over her: betrayal and hurt, fear, guilt that she would be leaving Grayson, and smoldering anger, to name a few.

"I'm sorry I never told you, but it wasn't a concrete decision until recently."

"I don't want to," she blurted. "Let's just do cyber school. Please?" She felt like she was going to panic.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I promise you'll love the place," he said, feverishly coaxing and apologetic. "We'll start new. Stop your pranking. And I'll be home much, much more. My work is almost done. We'll have far more quality time."

"I like it here," Dak said. "I'm happy here."

"You'll be happier there. Trust me." Now he sounded cryptic, like there was more to it. As if he was withholding a vital piece of information, and wanted to save it for later.

"No," Dak repeated, feeling her bottom lip tremble.

"Start packing all of your clothes and belongings. I have to go back on business, but I should be here by Friday," he murmured and kissed the top of her head.

"I missed you, Dad," she said honestly.

"I missed you, too. I'm very sorry." And he embraced her. She returned the hug, even though for once, it didn't comfort and elate her like it normally did when he came home.

His arms eventually fell away. "Looks like you left the TV on this morning."

She looked up to check. It was on, and broadcasting Fullmetal Alchemist. She smiled faintly, mood lifted the slightest inch when Edward Elric accidentally called himself short and promptly threw a fit inside the vent.

"Sorry," she said automatically.

"Your favorite show, isn't it?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

"Fullmetal Alchemist," he stated.

"Yeah," she repeated flatly.

"Hmm." That cryptic air from before returned, a strange twinkle awakening in his eye. It confused Dak, but she was in too sour of a mood to care. He seemed to snap out of it, and his eyes reverted to her. "Well, you're grounded from electronics until I get back."

She nodded. Like she was going to uphold that wish whilst being unsupervised for days. That was one of the advantages of his absences: freedom.

"I need to go. Be good."

"Bye, Dad." She followed him out to the front door. He took his coat off of the coat hanger beside it, shrugging it on.

"Are you short on anything?" he asked.

"Just milk and bread," she answered. He slipped her a fifty, plus two twenty dollar bills. She didn't complain. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, reminded her that he'd miss her, and left. She waited until she heard his car's engine fade into the distance, then went upstairs.

Her father had always forbade her from going into his study. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. She never went in, because despite her misbehaviors, she did obey her father when she could help it.

But now she was upset and she desired revenge. She thought that maybe, the study would be a suitable location for a prank. Or maybe, it held valuable information that would inspire one.

Coming to a stop in front of the door, she reached for the knob. Her hand grasped it, but she hesitated. She felt a strange sense of foreboding, and truth be told her curiosity had dissipated long ago. She decided to ignore the negative intuition and turned the knob anyway.

She opened the door wide. It was dark, and her hand scrabbled around the wall until it encountered a light switch. She toggled it. A ceiling lamp lit up the room, exposing her father's private sanctuary to her for the first time.

There was a desk, like every study would have. It was cluttered, papers littering it so densely it was like a second varnish for the desk. Several bookshelves lined the room. They touched the ceiling, and were spacious and wide, but each of them was chock-full of books.

Dak took a step inside to investigate further. By doing so, she trampled over the numerous papers that were strewn haphazardly across the floor, as well as books. She realized belatedly that she would be leaving footprints behind, as she had forgotten to remove her boots. Too late now, she supposed.

She strode over to the desk. She picked up some papers, confounded when she tried to read them. Rather than words and letters, symbols, numbers and equations were scrawled across the papers. They also bore drawings, which confused her further.

They were sketches of circles, remarkably similar to the transmutation circles as seen on Fullmetal Alchemist. She frowned, recalling his strangeness earlier when he brought up the wonderful anime.

It just didn't make sense. Why were there alchemical circles embellishing her father's research documents?

"What in the actual fuck?" Dak muttered. If he was an avid fan, she could understand why he kept it secret. He must have been aware that his unhealthy obsession transcended otaku level. But still, she couldn't believe that this was his big secret. It was stupid.

She investigated further, hoping to debunk her theory, and flipped through one of the books. To her surprise, this one expounded on witchcraft. It was full of spells, incantations, and glyphs resembling that of transmutation circles but not quite the same thing.

The sense of foreboding she had felt not too long ago was creeping up on her again, eclipsed and urgent. She had the sudden urge to run out, but resisted. It was probably just paranoia; after all she had never explored this forbidden territory before. The young girl chalked it up as a manifestation of guilt, and moved on to another book.

It was titled "The History of Chemistry". Her father was a major chemist, so it made much more sense. Relieved that she found something that actually belonged, she returned to the desk.

She browsed through the drawers from top to bottom. In the first, there was a sheaf of papers. She quickly closed it, having glimpsed alchemical jargon and gibberish. She was attempting to pretend she had never seen the alchemy papers.

In the second, a voluminous book about alchemy. She also shut that drawer in the blink of an eye. She braved pulling the third one out. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was only a necklace.

"Thank God," she whispered and took it out. She examined it more closely, imbuing a blood red stone cut in the shape of a rain drop and encompassed in a framework of sterling silver curlicues. Admiring its beauty, she wondered if the necklace was tied in with her mother somehow.

She felt a sharp pang in her heart. She immediately banished all thoughts of her mother to the back of her mind, where it was probably getting cramped. Dak contemplated the necklace for a few moments before putting it on.

She realized that the necklace had delayed and distracted her, and hastily resumed her perusal of the room. She plucked a few sheets of paper off of the floor. The action bared a fraction of said floor, fortuitously unearthing a print of chalk.

It was a peek of a chalk, to be exact, and obviously only a small piece of the puzzle. Her curiosity was piqued. Dak shuffled the plethora of papers into slipshod piles, exposing the art.

It was revealed to be a circle endowed with geometrical shapes and a network of complex, intersecting lines. It was symmetrical, and looked exactly like the transmutation circles seen on Fullmetal Alchemist.

Dak swallowed audibly. Was her father really this much of a fanatic? If he was, she didn't know whether she should respect or be worried for him.

Unexpectedly, that premonition from before returned with a vengeance. It was stronger, bells of apprehension ringing raucously in her head. It was conflicting with the urge to reach out and touch the circle. Dak hissed in annoyance, not understanding why this paranoia was so potent.

Just to prove to herself that it was ridiculous, Dak clapped her hands palms down on the sketch. She smiled, feeling smug when nothing happened.

"There," she said and started to peel her hands away...

...when incandescent light exploded from the ground. It enveloped her, eliciting a high-pitched shriek she never knew she was capable of. Why couldn't her singing voice be that high?

The light morphed into a swirling vortex. It was a spooky, light purple flecked with blood red. Dak scrambled backward, but almost as soon as she did that, sable, wiggly arms emerged from the center of the circle. They shot forward, effectively weaving around her. She thrashed around, but it was futile and they dragged her to the center of the circle.

And she disappeared, not noticing the necklace glow at the last second.