On Wings of Steel
~Chapter 1~
Summary: They say he's got golden locks that drape over his broad shoulders, and a rough and worn face. He was garbed in a tattered and beaten cloak, said to be colored red with the blood of his enemies. But the one thing that stood out above all was his metal arm and leg, said to be granted to him by the devil himself as a reward for cheating death one too many times.
A/N: Salutations! This idea had been writing itself in my head for quite some time, so I decided to give it a bit of attention XD
This story takes place in a completely different AU that has nothing to do with Amestris. Most of the characters' relationships to each other are the farthest thing from canonical, so you've been warned :) The world contains elements of the Mad Max movies, fantasy, and a bit of steampunk so its definetely a unique mix that manifested in my imagination.
I hope you enjoy, it would mean the world to me if I can put a smile on your face!
The world wasn't like it used to be; nothing resembled the old. It was a harsh and inhospitable place that bred pain and suppression, a world where only the strong survived and the weak kneeled to the corrupt government - because if there was one thing a person learned at a young age, it was that there are three kinds of people: the masters at the table, the dogs who begged, and the rats that stole what crumbs they could find.
Within those three, however, lied another breed of human beings: outlaws.
And amongst the outlaws there was one of legend, a man never to mess around with. They say he's got golden locks that drape over his broad shoulders, and a rough and worn face that boasts a single large scar over his right cheek. He was garbed in a tattered and beaten cloak, said to be colored red with the blood of his enemies. He was unforgiving and unforgetting, and he never missed his target. But the one thing that stood out above all was his metal arm and leg, said to be granted to him by the devil himself as a reward for cheating death one too many times.
His name?
No one knows, no one wants to. The only thing he's known by is Fullmetal, the man that rides on wings of steel.
"Pick your poison," invited the bartender as he dried a beer glass, the dirty rag squeaking in unison.
The diner was a run down, oval building, with a retro look that consisted of chrome trimming on the outside and a checkered floor with 50's diner décor inside. It was in the middle of a wasteland with nothing around for miles, and was respectively called "North of Nowhere." The place was a humble diner/bar that had an old-school quality to it, the jukebox always playing old songs as the checkered tile aged and cracked with time.
"Something hard," the blond-locked man grunted, resting his hands on the counter.
The bartender nodded and reached for a bottle of liquor, popping off the top and pouring it into a shot glass. "Hardest shit we have, you an outlaw?" he asked.
The customer didn't reply as he pulled up the long sleeve of his crimson coat, revealing a large gash on his left arm. Without a flinch or any grunt of pain, he poured the alcohol on his wound.
"How'd you get that?" the diner owner inquired while he shook his head and retrieved the glass. He chuckled to himself, "Never mind, it's better I don't know."
The red-coated customer rolled his sleeve back down before eyeing the bartender again.
"Do you have milk?"
Caught off guard, the bartender simply reached into a beat up fridge and revealed a glass bottle of milk.
"That your poison?" he asked as he handed it over.
The blond took the bottle and poured himself a shot of it, pressing the glass to his dry lips as he whipped his head back. "Damn I hate this shit," he muttered just loud enough to be heard.
"Milk? You're defiantly odd," laughed the owner as he scooped up the now-milky glass, walking over to rinse it under the sink. "Heard about the latest victim of the government?"
All he received was silence and a curious look.
"Well," the bartender continued, "I heard they found some rich kid who knew how to perform alchemy. Sent the boor bastard straight to the Capitol. His parent's were supposed to be real dicks, shipping him off to preserve their good name."
"Sounds about right," replied the customer.
Suddenly the song that was playing began to skip, repeating the same line over and over again.
"Been meaning to fix that damned thing, annoys the hell out of me when it happens," the diner owner muttered irritably.
The customer grinned and slapped the counter with his hands, his right one making an audible metal clang.
"Thanks for the drink," he said.
"Which one?" asked the bartender. "The one you poured over your arm, or the damn milk?"
The outlaw hid his subtle smile, remaining silent while he clapped his hands together before placing one on the repeating jukebox.
"There, consider that my payment."
A lighting-like aura surrounded the jukebox as the mysterious man walked out of the restaraunt, the song now playing perfectly as the jukebox was made brand new.
"Hey, thanks. Was that...?" the bar owner shook his head and returned to cleaning glasses, a grin forming on his lips. "Don't see that every day," he mused to himself.
Outside, the red-cloaked man took a deep breath as the door shut behind him. The old diner was surrounded by desert in every direction, the wasteland traveling for miles on end. The sky was a clear and vibrant blue that held several large moons and the giant planet known as Saturn. The moons were much larger than normal, the craters as large as a regular sized moon. Saturn, however, was even larger; only half the planet able too be seen at any given time. The other half is constantly hidden by the horizon. Its ring cut across the fantasy-like sky, paving a path of the space debris and asteroids that built it.
The wind began to blow as the blond outlaw trotted down the rotten, wooden stairs and eyed a motorcycle. It was made of bare sheet metal with rust covering most of the body, and it had a chopper ride to it and a banged up plate on the back that read "Fullmetal." With a satisfactory grin the man sat down on the worn leather seat, tracing an etching of angel wings on the gas tank with his finger. Under the engraving was a simple saying:
"On wings of steel I ride."
With a turn of a key the motorcycle started up with a loud rumble, the engine idling and loping in a low and ear vibrating tone. He twisted the throttle and slowly took off into the vast, empty wasteland.
On he rode, his tattered and ripped coat flapping in the wind as he drove without caution or restraint. His blonde hair ruffled as he continued through the wasteland, an ammo belt vibrating against his chest while he gripped a shotgun that sat in a mounted holster on the side of his bike. He would ride with the moons to his back and the massive planet in front of him for most of the day, his spiked, steel-toed boots tapping a rhythm on the running board. He had a mission, a job to do that would pay for his next several meals. It was of course, illegal, but then again nothing about the Fullmetal was government approved.
"Sir!" saluted several soldiers as a high ranking soldier passed them and made his way through the hall. He was garbed in a faded blue military uniform that had used to be a brilliant shade of blue, but now was worn down after years of service.
"I've got the bastard this time," he stated to the lieutenant at his side, a big grin gracing his face. "That Fullmetal won't get away - not today."
"Sir," his blonde lieutenant spoke up, trying to keep her pace up with her eager superior. "Are you sure you have him this time? I mean, you've been hunting him for years."
The black-haired man paused and looked her over as she stared back at him.
"Damn right I do," he said confidently. "One of my trusted sources just revealed that he's on his way to a government arms warehouse in the eastern district. It's all wasteland out there, so it's a perfect place to store munitions. He can't run, not this time - not even Fullmetal can hide in the middle of nowhere."
"Sir!" agreed the lieutenant as they kept on walking. Their pace quickened before they eventually reached a car that awaited them outside the Capitol building, a large building where all the high ranking government officials resided to maintain their corrupt rule over the country. The grand yet old building lies within an empty city, all of its residents having been kicked out long ago. Their homes and businesses got turned into store houses and supply rooms, making the once lively place an active military base. Ever since being forced to move, the ex-residents found refuge in the slums and other types of living. The rich, however, were granted exclusive living quarters within the Capitol walls.
"I'll drive," said the high ranking man as he got in the car, gripping the steering wheel as he waited for his lieutenant to join him.
"Mustang," the blonde lieutenant addressed now that they were alone. "You sure you don't want any backup?"
The car started and took off, revealing the answer to her question.
"No, Hawkeye, this son of a bitch is all mine," the man called Mustang stated, determination laced in his voice.
Hawkeye watched as he drove with fire in his eye; his left eye was covered by an eye patch, and she realized that the man before her was determined to catch the Fullmetal at all costs. It had been his life goal ever since the outlaw had made himself known.
"And what happens when you catch him, sir?"
Mustang grinned and kept his eyes fixed on the road, the gas pedal slowly growing closer to the floorboard.
"I'm going to put a bullet in his damn skull."
The loud motorcycle came to a stop, the engine ceasing as its rider observed his target. In front of him were three tall, rectangular connected buildings that used to serve as apartments long ago. Now the building cluster rests in the middle of nowhere. Inside the middle of the three buildings was an arms warehouse that the government kept secret. To your average passerby it would seem like a long forgotten memory, but to an outlaw it was a perfect cash store of weapons.
With a sigh, Fullmetal arose from his bike and grabbed the shotgun out of its holster.
"Let's just get this done and over with," he muttered to himself.
The blond left the bike and made his way to the crumbling buildings. Upon reaching the front door of the apartment he flicked the shotgun up with one hand, pulling the trigger and blowing away the doorknob. The outlaw then proceeded to kick the door down, alerting the soldiers inside of his presence.
"Hey! What the hell do you think your doing?!" exclaimed the surprised guards. They were quickly silenced, however, with a spray of shotgun shells that drowned out their screams. The crimson-coated man observed his surroundings, following the faint voice that came from upstairs. After ascending the decayed staircase, Fullmetal looked around and kicked in a door that was partially open.
"This is arms house number twelve out In the eastern district, we're under att-," the soldier on the radio was quickly stopped with a round to his back.
"Sorry pal, but I don't need your friends coming around," Fullmetal chuckled as he shot up the radios and receivers that were scattered around the room. The shot gun wielder then opened the barrel of his modified shotgun and loaded several more shells, whipping the barrel back in place before exiting.
"Now where would you keep a store of weapons?" he asked himself as he exited the radio room and looked around. There was no way that the guns would be down stairs - it's far too accessible to intruders like him. No, they'd make him climb upstairs. But he was upstairs, so where would they be? It wasn't in the room behind him - that was the radio station. And by the looks of it, there were only two more doors left in the small building, so it had to be one of them.
With a sigh the outlaw crossed the narrow hallway and kicked in the first door on his right, finding a cowardice soldier huddling in the corner.
"P-please don't kill me, I heard the commotion down stairs and I didn't want to die, honest," the soldier pleaded.
The shotgun wielder laughed and pointed the double barrel in his face. "Then tell me where the stores are," he demanded.
The cowering soldier shook his head and flinched, covering his face with his hands. "I-I can't! That would be treason, and the government would do terrible things if they found-," a loud bang suddenly shut the babbling man up.
"Simply hiding is treason enough for them," the outlaw said angrily.
Fullmetal exited the room and looked to his right, eyeing the last door upstairs. His heavy steel-toed boots clunked on the wooden floor as he approached the ajar door, kicking it in and raising his gun to meet yet another face. But this time it wasn't a soldier, it was a young boy.
"What the hell?" the outlaw paused, slowly lowering his gun in bewilderment. In front of him sat a small boy that couldn't be any older than ten years old. He had short, brownish-blonde hair, with golden eyes that stared back in fear. The kid was dressed in a red, faded and dirty hoodie with jeans and well worn sneakers.
"H-hello mister," the boy greeted. Fullmetal stared at him a moment longer before rubbing his forehead.
"What the hell is a kid like you doing here?" he questioned.
"Well," the brownish blonde began, "I was taken by soldiers. They caught me and forced me to come here so they could transfer me to the Capitol."
The red coated outlaw shook his head and looked around, noticing that there were no guns.
"Listen kid, where do they keep the guns here?"
The small kid froze, unsure of what to say.
"I don't have time for this!" exclaimed Fullmetal as he raised the shotgun to meet the boy's eyes. "Spit it out kid, I don't have all day."
The golden-eyed boy gulped and jumped up, running over to the back wall of the room. He grabbed the horizontal chair railing on the wall, rotating it until it was vertical, inevitably creating a door handle. The kid then tugged and pulled on the newly created leverage point until the wall began to open like a sliding glass door, revealing rows of guns on weapon racks along with a duffel bag.
"H-here. I've s-seen them open it before," the younger of the two quickly stuttered.
"That's a good boy," Fullmetal complimented as he reached for the bag that was hidden within the stash, pulling guns off their racks and stuffing them in it.
"That should do it."
The outlaw lifted the bag onto his shoulder, proceeding the leave the room.
"Wait!" the boy suddenly cried, stopping the blonde-locked man. "C-can I come with you?"
Fullmetal slowly turned around and looked at the young kid with a mix of confusion and annoyance. After a minute he answered,
"No, I need to get going and I ride alone. I don't need some brat to look after."
Before he could leave, however, a siren was heard outside.
"Fullmetal!" cried a man's voice over a megaphone. "I know you're in there you asshole. Come out or I'll come in!"
The outlaw walked back into the room and glanced out the window. There was no need for it, though; he could tell who it was simply by that annoying voice.
"Now how the hell did this bastard know I was here?" he grunted through gritted teeth.
"You can take him, right?" encouraged the boy. "I mean, you took out all these other soldiers. Can't you kill one more guy?"
Fullmetal grinned and shook his head. "No kid, this bastard is different. He's not your average man... he can control the fires of hell."
The golden-eyed kid gulped and stood on his tiptoes to look out the window, curiosity swelling up inside of him.
"What's your name kid?" the outlaw asked.
The boy finished peering out the window and looked up at the rough and intimidating man before him.
"I'm Alphonse," he answered with a small smile.
"Well then, Alphonse," the outlaw smiled back, "You're going to help me get out of here."