Hughes frowned and pressed himself against the wall. He wasn't liking the look of this place – not at all. Too many bodies littered the floor, some human, and some…not so much.

There was blood everywhere, spilling out onto the water-slicked floor and squelching under the booted feet of he and his team.

"Is this the place?" he heard Havoc whisper from behind him. Part of him wanted to say no, part of him wanted to say yes. He didn't want this to be the place because if it was…there was a high possibility that they wouldn't be finding him alive. If this wasn't the place though…well, it had already been two months. Two months the man had been missing.

It didn't help that the poor guy hadn't exactly been…stable before all of this happened. Living through the apparent deaths of his best friend and his boyfriend, and then watching them both come back three years later…well, he couldn't blame the guy for having trouble with the idea. The war between worlds certainly didn't help with that. It had been like Ishbal all over again – forced to kill innocents just because they were alien, and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Still, they'd been working through it. He and Edward had only been back in this world for a few months – only long enough, it seemed, for the man to finally wrap his head around their return – before this happened.

Another reason to hope that this wasn't the place: Ed was all the way in West City on a lead. If they found him in some kind of state, which, given the state of the place, seemed more likely than not at this point, it would have been nice to have Ed there.

Then again, if they found him dead, he wasn't sure he would've wanted the young alchemist to see it first-hand.

He shook his head. He couldn't think like that. He had to be optimistic, right?

"Keep going," he said. "If he's in here, we'll find him." And they would, because after everything this man had done for all of them – the protection he'd offered them all from the horrors of the world around them – he deserved to be saved.

Suddenly, there was a sound coming from behind them, a feral-sounding snarl, and Hughes whipped around, gun out and trained ahead lest they had stumbled upon another freed chimera.

What he saw, however, was not some abominable mix between man and beast, nor was it one of the many despicable mercenaries they'd encountered.

It was a dog. Or no, maybe wolf would be more fitting. The thing was more massive than any dog Hughes had ever seen, standing easily at four feet.

With its midnight black fur, the creature stood out stark against the light of their flashlights, crouched low to the ground as it stared ahead at them with its mismatched eyes. An icy blue orb gleamed from the left, but on the right, a sharp onyx orb glittered in the light.

The shredded remains of fabric clinging to its haunches – what looked to have been pants at one time – brought forth some curiosity from Hughes. Who would clothe a wolf?

Then again, what stood before him probably wasn't a wolf at all.

Suddenly, a look akin to recognition passed over the creature, and it gave a start, its head lifted back and away in an expression that was altogether just a little too human. Just as quickly as the look appeared, however, it was gone.

And so was the wolf, tearing off down the halls. Too shocked to follow it just yet, Hughes couldn't help noticing as it ran the way only three of its feet ever touched the ground, the other held up as if it was injured.

The moment it turned the corner, Hughes snapped out of his daze. "With me," he commanded, taking off after the wolf. In the back of his mind, he vaguely acknowledged that what he was doing was the same sort of recklessness he tended to chide his best friend for. Despite that, he couldn't seem to bring himself to care.

As he rounded the corner after the creature, his feet slid in the bloody mess on the floor. He managed to catch himself though, gaining his speed again as Hawkeye and Havoc matched his pace. He wasn't sure how long he ran, down corridor after corridor led only by a flash of tail around the corner. Eventually, he stopped seeing the flashes of tail, hearing instead the scratching of nails across the floor.

When even that faded, Hughes slowed his pace, holding up his hand. "I think he's stopped," he whispered, continuing at a much slower pace down the dark hallways. Now that he wasn't barreling down them, he got a chance to look around at the halls around him. Rows upon rows of broken cell doors marked the halls, and the smell…God the smell. He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but it was familiar, and it was unpleasant.

And then, with a closer glance at a broken cell gate, he remembered. The smell was that of burning flesh, and the bars of the cells weren't broken…

They were melted.

"He was here," he breathed, eyes drawn inexplicably into one of the cells. He almost didn't want to look, but he had to. Something made him.

It was there that he saw them. The charred, bloody bodies of the creatures. The remains of their pitiful mouths were open in silent screams, some more human than others.

Hughes almost felt sick to his stomach.

In the silence brought on by his pause though, he started to hear something. Not the pounding of footsteps, not the snarls of the wolf. Soft sounds, the sounds of heavy breath and unspeakable pain.

The sounds were human.

Now Hughes ran. He ran like hell itself was behind him – but it wasn't what was behind him that mattered, it was what was in front of him. He knew that sound, knew that pain too well not to recognize it, so he ran until the sound stopped.

Because the source of the noise was looking straight at him, curled in the corner of a broken cell. For a moment, they froze, each staring at the other and neither having the ability to move.

Hughes swallowed, unable to quite grasp the horror in front of him. "Roy…"

And then all hell broke loose.

With a crazed cry, Roy scrambled to his feet, only to collapse again to his hands and knees. He didn't stop though, he threw himself forward, trying to reach the gate, only to have his path blocked by Hughes.

Realizing that he was effectively trapped, Roy's eyes grew wide, darting back and forth around the cell trying to find an exit.

His eyes.

His multi-colored eyes.

"Oh God, what have they done to you?" Hughes breathed as realization set in. He had found the wolf, and he had found the man, because the two were one in the same. The human in front of him wasn't just human anymore.

At the question, horror filled those mismatched eyes, and Roy fell backwards onto his hands. "Don't," he choked out, backing away. He pulled himself back with one arm, keeping the other folded tightly around his chest. He pushed himself back with only one leg as the other dragged limply along the ground, blood smearing on the ground in its wake.

He didn't stop until he hit the wall, his bare back pressed firmly against its frigid surface as he pulled his knee to his chest. Even from where Hughes stood, he could see the man shaking. He couldn't tell if it was the chill – the only clothes the man wore were tattered pants, barely enough to keep his decency, and certainly not enough to keep him warm – or if the man was going into shock. From the amount of blood that covered him, hopefully not all his own, it seemed likely that he was injured. His leg, especially, appeared to be in bad shape, with Roy apparently unable to do so much as move it.

"It's okay, Roy, you're safe now," Hughes whispered, slowly moving forward. As soon as the sound of his voice died, though, he heard another sound. Growls, he realized.

Roy was growling at them, his lip curled back to show canines just a little too sharp to be entirely human.

Then he realized that Roy wasn't staring at him, but past him. He turned, and saw that the others had finally caught up to him.

They were frightening him. Intimidating him. They needed to go.

"Everyone out," Hughes commanded.

"But sir—" Fuery started, but Hughes held up a hand.

"That's an order. Out. Now."

And because it was an order, they had no choice but to do what he said. He waited until they were out of sight before moving again, crouching down low and holding his hands out in front of him. His gun had long since been holstered.

"There you go, Roy. Just you and me. Is that okay?"

But Roy didn't answer, he just pressed himself back further against the wall, his eyes wide with panic.

Now that he was still, Hughes was starting to notice the injuries. One side of his chest was dented in, and the corresponding shoulder misshapen. Cuts and scrapes, most in groupings of three or four littered his body, smearing it with blood that prevented Hughes from getting a better idea of his wounds. He needed to act quickly.

"I'm going to come closer, okay?" he said, taking another step forward.

"Stop," Roy choked out. He was no longer looking at Hughes, his head tucked instead against his folded knee, one arm blocking his face from view.

Hughes almost did. The desperation – the sheer terror in Roy's voice – nearly stopped him in his tracks. But he didn't let it, because he knew that even though that was what he wanted, it wasn't what Roy needed.

"It's okay," he said instead, keeping his voice quiet and comforting. It was the tone he'd grown all to used to using in the years following Ishbal, when the world got too much for his friend to bear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

At that, Roy lifted his head. The fear in his eyes was joined now by a haunted look that was all too familiar. "You saw them?" he asked in barely more than a whisper.

Hughes paused. "Saw who?"

But Roy barely seemed to hear him. "Killed them." His fingers tightened into a fist in his long, midnight black hair. "Killed them all."

The chimera, Hughes realized. He was talking about the chimera. Roy had killed them.

"I know," Hughes said, kneeling in front of Roy. He was close enough to reach out and touch him now, and Roy recoiled from him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Roy."

Roy's head darted up. "Get away!" he screamed, lunging at Hughes. For a second, he thought that Roy was going to attack him. The next moment though, he realized that Roy wasn't jumping at him, but past him, and he turned just in time to see Roy tackle a massive, hairy beast that had somehow crept up behind him.

"Roy, get back!" Hughes shouted, pulling his gun around. He couldn't get a clear shot at the beast, with the way the two were wrestling around. Roy had latched an arm around the thing's throat, digging a knee into the creature's pronounced spine to gain leverage as the thing batted at him with massive claws. "Roy!"

He felt his heart stop as the thing sent Roy sprawling to the ground. It was on him in a flash, blocking Roy from sight entirely.

Before Hughes could get his gun trained though, there was a sound, like a clap, and the room suddenly lit up. The creature was on fire, wailing in pain as Roy wrenched himself free of the beast.

Alchemy, he realized, with no circle or anything.

But…Roy wasn't wearing his gloves.

He didn't get much of a chance to linger on that thought though, as the flames on the creature strengthened tenfold. The monstrosity was dead in an instant.

And Roy was disappearing down the hall, somehow managing to stay upright as he tripped and stumbled.

Now, Hughes could see why he was having so much trouble running. Blood wept down the whole of his left leg from long gashes around both sides of his thigh and even from where he stood, he could tell there were broken bones.

He couldn't let Roy run like that.

Steeling himself, he ran forward, slipping his gun back in its holster and his flashlight in his pocket. It wasn't hard to catch up to Roy, and when he did, he grabbed the smaller man around the waist, pinning his arms at his sides.

Roy screamed, a wild, feral sound that made Hughes's insides churn. With deceptive strength for someone so injured, he struggled against Hughes's arms.

"I need some help here!" Hughes shouted, hoping that his team wasn't too far away to hear him as he wrestled his captive to the ground.

The call for help only made Roy fight harder, even as Hughes managed to push him to the ground. With any and every limb he could manage to move, Roy lashed out at Hughes until the man managed to grab hold of both of his wrists, binding them in cuffs and holding them behind his back.

Now that he had his arms, he could see why one had looked so misshapen. His right arm was dislocated, from the looks of things, and he knew that the pressure he was exerting on it had to hurt like hell. He wouldn't move around with it like that though.

Sure enough, Roy went dead still, screaming into the cold ground.

"I know it hurts," Hughes said, trying to soothe the frantic man. "Just try to bear it for just a little longer, okay?" Maybe it was working, he thought. He'd stopped screaming, reduced now to soft, unintelligible moans.

As the sound of heavy boots struck his ears, and lights hit the corridor, he let out a sigh of relief. "Help's coming," he said.

At that, Roy let out a quiet, hysterical laugh. "Don't want help," he whispered, his voice broken and raw from screaming. "Just let me die."

With those words, Roy lost his tenuous hold on consciousness, and fell limp in Hughes's grasp.