Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and make no gain from this.

My first FMA story and my second story overall. Yay!

I apologise for any spelling, grammatical errors in advance. It tends to go from brain to paper/screen pretty quickly with me so sometimes it can be a bit messy but hopefully not unreadable.

Poor Scar. ; . ;

It's just not his day.

TWISTED CRIMSON

Chapter 1 - Careless

It was after sunset in Central and as the city's streetlamps flickered on one by one, bathing the streets in a soft glow, a tall figure hurried through the alleys-all the while staying as close to the walls as possible to avoid any chance of being seen.

Stopping to rest heavily against a wall the man glanced down at his side and discovered the blood seeping from the bullet wound there had yet to stop.

Damn it.

He had been careless.

He was still healing from his run-in with the Elric's and the big-muscled Major but did not want to wait for his wounds to finish healing in the slums. So he had left the care of his Ishbalan brethren and returned to the city.

He knew he was no where near ready to take on a State Alchemist again so soon, so he figured he would just lay low and scout out his next victim from a distance while his wounds finished healing. A reasonable plan, or so he thought.

Only moving around Central unnoticed was now a lot harder. It was bad enough that security had been tightened after the murders so many State Alchemists but after the body of the girl-chimera had been found-any movement around the city without being noticed had become almost impossible and he was spotted on the second night running down an alley.

Without any hesitation the soldiers had opened fire and he had been forced to use his right arm to destroy the ground beneath their feet to get away.

Unfortunately he had not been quick enough.

One bullet passed right through his thigh-thankfully it missed the bone-while another hit his left side just below the ribs. Both wounds bled profusely. Removing his jacket and shirt he had quickly used the shirt to bandage the wounds, ripping it down the middle and tying one length of fabric around his leg while the other he wrapped gently around his torso before carefully shrugging his jacket back on.

It slowed the bleeding but he knew it was only temporary and that if he didn't escape the streets of the city soon the military would be sure to find him.

Breathing raggedly he pushed himself away from the wall and continued onward. The sound of running footsteps in the distance caused him to quicken his pace and push past the dizziness that was slowly growing. His legs felt heavy and he kept a hand on the nearest wall for support as he pressed on.

Knowing that he would probably pass-out before reaching the safety of the slums – already feeling his strength slipping away. He realised that his only option was to get off the streets and away from the military before he was sighted again – and there was only one place he could think off where he knew the soldiers wouldn't readily look for him and he grimaced at the prospect.

Great.

Hurrying to the nearest manhole cover he used the little strength he had left to heave the thick metal lid to one side before slipping down the ladder and-quietly as he could-sliding the cover back into place.

Once his feet touching the ground he staggered, and sagged tiredly against the sewer wall.

Now what?

With a sick feeling - he realised that even if he managed to avoid the military he still needed urgent medical attention.

Glancing down at his injuries, he grimaced at the sight.

Although the wound on his leg stopped bleeding a while ago, he knew the injury on side would not heal without help, and the slums were the only place he could go to where he would not be judged – but they were still miles away.

He probably wouldn't make it there before he bled out anyway but still – there was nowhere else for him to go.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he pushed off a little from the wall and began making his way carefully down the tunnel. The darkness in the sewer was oppressive. Even the thin shards of moonlight coming through the drains were barely enough to see by – but still he pressed on, taking one cautious step after another so as not to slip on the slimy stone.

He must have only been walking for a few minutes when the sound of movement behind him caut his attention, causing him stop dead. Turning swiftly he caught a glimpse of something through the blackness but just as he turned more fully to face the potential threat a shot rang out and something sharp pierced his neck. Reaching back to pull out the offending object – crimson eyes widened as he stared at the little silver dart in horror.

Damn it!

Tossing the dart away he turned quickly but only managed a few steps before his legs gave out beneath him and he crashed to the floor with a pained shout – eyes squeezed shut against the agony radiating from his side. A cold, numbing sensation was spreading quickly throughout his body – it made his arms and legs feel stiff and heavy

'Must be whatever was in the dart – I can't even feel the wound on my leg anymore.'

As the fallen Ishbalan lay on the ground, breathing heavily, the faint sound of footfalls echoing through the tunnel caught his attention and he twisted as much as his numbing body would allow to see who had come to claim him. His eyes widened at what he saw and he would have scrambled away had limbs not felt so heavy and his vision not starting to grey around the edges.

The darkness was closing in rapidly around him, and the last thing he saw was the figure kneel down next to him and reach out. Despite the drowsiness he still managed to flinch slightly from the hand that tried to touch him – this earned a chuckle from his would be captor.

'Well now, this is a surprise. Oh no, don't get up my friend. You see, you've saved me a great deal of trouble by being here. With your help I can continue my research.'

He did not like the sound of that – not one bit, and if his brain weren't so foggy from the dart he would have lashed out with his right arm.

The figure got to his feet and Scar was faintly aware that he was being lifted – feeling arms too big to be human curling behind his knees and around his back. The monster cradled him carefully, close to its' chest as if he were a child and mindful of the Ishbalan's injuries.

For the first time fear began to coil in Scar's stomach and he was afraid of what he would find when he woke up.

Squeezing his eyes shut he allowed his head to rest against the fur of his captor chest while he tried desperately not to panic.

Luckily he didn't have too long to wait as the drug finally won the battle and he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

TBC…

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