All right, this is an AU fic. It is set in a modern world, but the country of Artmesis does not exist, nor does alchemy. But automail does. That is all ! Enjoy!

Disclamer: I do not own FMA or FMAB or their characters.


Chapter 1

The man silently picked the lock.

Timing was a key, and he wanted to make sure that he did not slip up. He had less than a few minutes after entering the pawn shop, 10 if he was lucky. But he knew that he would be gone by 5. The lock proved easy to pick, only 4 tumblers, hardly a challenge for someone like him.

Just as he entered, an alarm tripped, notifying the local authorities of the break in. On any other day, they would be over here in 2 minutes, but not today. Not when there were two important events taking place in the country and when the force was severely set back to pay attention to a single break in.

The store was empty; he had made sure of it. The owner was in Miami, enjoying his yearly holiday. Removing the unnecessary thoughts from his mind, he hastened over to the display, where two mannequins were made to stand up for advertisement. As the shop was closed, the window was covered, so that made his job even easier. A gloved hand slipped silently in between the mannequins, and retrieved a small briefcase that was situated on the ground.

His mission completed, he turned on his heel and went on to exit the shop. Even though the police force was extremely low today, they would come here eventually. But the fact will remain that they will not notice any signs of break-ins, or any missing valuable objects. The briefcase was not even spared a glance before, and he was sure that it would be easily overlooked.

He silently locked the door again, to reduce the evidence of a break-in. His gloved hands ensured that absolutely no traces remained. He quickly sprinted over across the street and entered an overcrowded bar. The people hardly paid him any attention, not even the bar-keep. They were far too engrossed in viewing the 60 inch plasma screen which was installed specially for this day. The screen showed endless replays of Vilena's last match against Portugal. The finals were taking place today, and were still 2 hours till the event. The person looked around, and finally found a booth which would allow him a clear view of the street and of the shop. He placed his briefcase in front of him and double checked the contents. He had made sure earlier, but it never hurt to check once more. 3 minutes later, the sirens announced the arrival of the patrol cars. He took it as his cue and bustled out of the back door. He silently but quickly made his way through the maze of the side streets, a path which he had thoroughly memorized earlier. Finally reaching another main street, he quickly hailed a passing cab and got inside.

"Ecuador hotel." Was all that he said.

Inside the cab, he went over and over on his plans, which he had finalized to the last extent. He always had two separate plans, and a contingency plan. He never messed up. Never ever.

While in the cab, he shifted himself to ensure that he was easily seen by the driver from the rear view mirror. He glanced at himself. A short yet messy brown haired person whose hair never even passed his ears, along with cerulean orbs stared back at him. His beard was messy, with tufts of hair showing unhealthy hygiene. His nose was somewhat flat, showing signs of a previous injury on it.

As the cab approached the destination, he quickly passed over a thousand standard note, a quiet big tip, even before the cabbie could mutter a thank you. He never took the front entrance, always preferring the back door. No one even glanced at his persona, being the hotel that it was. It would serve as a moderate living quarters, yet not extravagant. The rooms were moderately priced, and attracted quite a bit of tourists and sports fans that had come to see the magnificent ecology of the country and the Football World cup finals.

Reaching his flat, he hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign outside the door. He made sure to loop the security feed to show the corridors empty before his entrance, another security measure. Ensuring that he was completely alone, he finally opened the briefcase.

The dismantled parts of a Sako M75 I hunting rifle along with 10 .223 Remington cartridges stared back at him.

A smile creeped up on his face.


Carlos Figuera was a very greedy man.

Even thought he usually used to deny it vehemently on public, there was nothing more enjoyable that the sights of stacks of American Dollars piled in front of him. He sorely hated to let it go to waste, and would do anything to add it to his pile. That is why he stood for the elections of President of Vilena.


The person took his time in assembling the rifle. He caressed each part with care, before joining it to its appropriate counterpart. The scope was well polished yet the sight was a bit blurry. He even took care to replace it with one of his own custom lens, making sure to place the originals in a safe location. Finally he added two of the cartridges into the magazine. He knew that he would need only one, but he always liked to prepare for emergencies. He never had to divert form his main plan even once. The flawlessness of his plans used to baffle every kind of authorities.

Opening the window ever so slightly and he removed his view finder from the breast pocket of his coat. He skillfully adjusted it to the event which was taking place in front of his eyes. A crowd had gathered. A political rally was taking place, organized by Carlos Figuera, a potential candidate for the president ship of Vilena. The crowd was huge and there were specific raised platforms for the media, apparently for more coverage. The person himself was standing at the podium giving off an impressive speech. Little that the crowd knew that he used the same speech every time, only with minor changes. His actions used to be the same too. Apparently, he never used to search for something innovative.

'I for one, I will not let fear deter me.' The person mouthed.

"I for one, I will not let fear deter me." Carlos repeated.

The crowd went wild at his words. Carlos shifted into criticizing the western nations for exploiting their country. He removed a George Washington bill from his pocket and promptly shredded it, and tossed the remaining pieces into the crowd. The crowd was cheering him on uncontrollably, although the person knew that there were many paid junkies within the crowd, placed at strategic locations.

'God isn't an American' he mouthed.

"God isn't an American." Carlos dutifully repeated.

Smirking, the person tore his view from the viewfinder and skillfully set up the rifle. Even though the event seemed within an arm's reach with the viewfinder, it was still 4 kms away. The person took off the safety, and waited for the perfect moment. Glancing at his watch, he started to count off 60 seconds. Meanwhile, he made the final arrangements to the rifle.

40 seconds remaining.

He squinted into the powerful scope, and singled out his target.

30 seconds.

He found his target and adjusted the scope.

20 seconds.

He arranged the milli-dots on his face.

10 seconds.

He controlled his breathing and took a deep breath.

5 seconds.

He began to count off the remaining seconds.

Carlos was still giving his speech. He was nearing the end of it though. He was grinning widely, as he had gotten his message across to the people.

Zero.

A fountain of blood appeared behind him, which was soon joined by the crumpled remains of what used to be Carlos Figuera's head.

The person smiled.


He wasted no more time; he quickly withdrew the rifle from its post, and started to disassemble it. He quickly removed the cartridges from the barrel and the magazine and put them back into their initial resting place. He doubted that the shopkeeper would notice one used bullet, but who was he to care? .233 bullets were cheap, and one did not matter. He would likely pass it off as a mistaken packaging. By the time the police would even reach the conclusion that this was the murder weapon, a year would have passed. He then quickly replaced the lens of the scope, putting his custom one back into his pocket. He never hurried, as he knew that haste made waste, but the nerves did not agree with him. No matter how much ever assassination jobs he carried out, he would always get the post job jitters. His inner self was urging him to hurry, but paying it no heed, he calmly looked around the room, looking for any forgotten materials. His gloves were still on, as it was second nature to him.

He exited the room, and took the stairs to exit. He had unlooped the security feed back before exiting, once again leaving no evidence. He made his way over to the back door, from where he sprinted the 5 blocks back to the pawn shop.

Again, he picked the lock to the back door to the pawn shop. This time, he was not worrying about his time period, as he figured that the cops had better things to do than visiting a pawn shop for a break in. Again. The alarm went off again as a bad habit, however like the previous time it was completely ignored. He made his way over to the display, where he silently placed the briefcase back. He really though that the owner would report anything when he came back, as there were two break-ins yet nothing stolen. Except a few diamonds that the police had probably removed while their previous visit. He made his way back to the door, as silently as he came. Seeing that there was nothing out of place, he repeated his earlier procedure. This time, instead of crossing the street, he vaulted the fence behind the building and made his way to another street, where he hailed another cab. Giving the address of another hotel, he plopped himself in the back. Police cars were scrambling widely on the streets, torn widely from security for the world cup and the crowd control situation that was taking place at the rally.

He unlocked the door of his other room in the other hotel with a different card. This room was furnished in a better way than the previous one. An open briefcase looked back at the person, looking expectant. He stripped immediately, and headed toward the shower. While on the way, he removed his wig, fake rubber skin and his colored contact lenses. He then spent the next hour in removing the dye from his golden colored locks which reached till his back. He had dyed his hair as an extra precaution. Then he moved onwards to the mirror where he shaved whatever hair that he had on his chin. 2 hours later, a clean shaved, clear faced, golden haired male who had golden colored orbs looked back at himself in the mirror. He was in his mid twenties, and was extremely handsome. Very few knew his real name, and the ones who did were his associates, his superiors or were languishing in their graves. In Vilena, he was here as Frank McCoy, an ecologist. An American citizen, who worked for FEMA. Shooting a glance at the wall clock, he decided to have a short nap before getting ready for his flight, which was scheduled for takeoff in 2 hours.


He slept soundly for an hour, and then got up to prepare for his escape. He wasn't worried in the least, but he still had to get out of the country successfully. He knew never to cry hello before he got out of the woods. Donning on a light blue shirt and tight jeans, he carefully packed his bag. He once again donned his gloves, and wiped everything down. He was sure that room service would take care of everything else.

He dutifully checked out, and tore up the number of the cell phone that the receptionist passed to him. He hailed another cab, the third one this day, and made his way over to the airport. He had disposed off the rubber mask and the wig earlier. He never brought any weapons, as they were only a hassle to be brought through the airport. As he cleared the customs, he saw that his flight was conveniently delayed by another hour. From the corner of his eye, he saw that a person who had short brown hair was taken by the officials. He chuckled. He wondered how many more such individuals would be detained because of his earlier actions.

Finally, he relaxed into his first class seat, enjoying the leg space provided. The pilot took his sweet time for takeoff. He had faced a multitude of security checks earlier, which had raised the temperatures of a few of the passengers. The hostess- a pretty blond came bustling over to him.

"Is there anything that I can get for you before takeoff, Mr. McCoy? Champagne, soda or just water?"

"No thank you. I shall prefer it later."

The no- smoking sign came alive, along with the seat belt. Slowly, but surely the airplane took off in the air. A few minutes later, the intercom buzzed in, along with the voice of the voice of the captain.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I am interrupting this flight with some bad news for you all."

He stiffened up.

"It seems that England has beaten Vilena in the world cup finals. A clear victory 4-0."

A collective groan sounded through the plane, and it seemed as crashing into the next mountain seemed highly favorable.

The hostess came back to him.

"Now that we are on our way, do you want anything now, Mr. McCoy?"

"I think that a glass of champagne shall do nicely."

He got his glass, along with another piece of paper which had her phone no. along with the words 'call me'.

Smiling, Edward Elric savored the smooth taste of champagne.


Firstly, of there is any real Carlos Figuera in the real world, I am sorry! I do not meant to relate to you in this fic, the name simply popped up in my head.

I dont think that the country of Vilena does exist. And I do not have anything against England, Portugal, or America. Please do not badger me for what I have written on this fic. If I have offended you, I am sorry.

Standard is taken to be the fictional currency of a fictional country. I do not mean to relate it to anything else.

I also do not know if the M75 I model is foldable or no. Also i do not know the effective range of the .223 cartridge. If you have the correct figures, please tell me, for then I shall edit it accordingly.

Review please! It does not take a lot of time to do so, only one or two minutes. Please do so! It makes me feel better !

Thanks again for reading this.