A Parody Gone Wrong
Prologue
Fate intervened on a crisp autumn day. He was a patriot of his country. She was a traitor to the human kind. He lived in a civilized world. She hid from the society. He survived fighting the war. She died protecting her love.
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The dazzling whiteness of the hospital room blinded the newly opened eyes of Brigadier General Mustang. He blinked his eyes several times to flicker away the blinding light. The beams, however, were not the product of a beautiful sunny day; it was the result of giant fluorescent lights hanging overhead above the beds. Outside the only window in the room, the weather was less than pleasant. The grungy grey of the thunderclouds threatened to bring rain at a moment's notice; the wind blowing outside was abrasive, causing the trees to scratch coarsely against the glass.
"My, you're awake!" exclaimed an elderly nurse who was tending to his needles. "Please get some rests now, young man."
The brigadier nodded. The nurse smiled warmly and stepped out of the room. Mustang enjoyed the peace while glancing outside at the miserable weather. He tried to adjust to his newly recovered vision in the left eye; a pain surged through almost immediately.
"You must get some rest, colonel, before that eye of yours will start to work again," a heavy masculine voice echoed in the room. The voice was gentle, but nonetheless suppressive.
"General Hakuro!" saluted Mustang.
"You had the States worried a bit there, colonel. How do you wish to pay off the debt of angst you've caused the States?" Hakuro's voice rang.
"Anything the military requires me to do, general," Mustang's voice ricocheted with the same arrogance.
"Superb! After you dismissal from the hospital, you will be assigned to the Ninth Combat Squadron as the brigadier general, understand?" Hakuro stated firmly.
"The 'Colonel-less' squad?" the colonel was surprised.
"The States have noticed this 'informal title' that the soldiers have nicknamed the Ninth. But as you know, the squad is one of the most competent real-life combat troops even after the loss of the late Brigadier General Felix and the disappearance of most of the Ninth," the general said.
"Yes sir, I know glories achieved by the Ninth under the leadership of the States and Felix. I have also acquired the knowledge of the Ninth brigadier general's unfortunate death," Mustang's eyes darkened slightly.
"I did not say that General Felix is dead, I said 'loss,' colonel. I understand your past relationships with agent Felix," General Hakuro faked a small cough to slightly cover up the word "relationships". "But you must understand that this is States business and it's crucial to the status of the military, even if the country is in the hands of the House of Common."
"Velra is alive?"
"We don't know, Mustang, do you accept the assignment or not?" bellowed the general.
"Yes sir!"
The rain drummed hard on the windowpanes, but not loud enough to drown out the painful groans and fragments of stammering words of the colonel.
"No...don't go...please, don't leave me...come back...VELRA!" Mustang cried out.
"Colonel, what's wrong?" a stampede of nurses and doctors rushed through the open door. The blindingly white light flashed on again.
"Nothing, doctor, I'm fine. Just a nightmare, that's all," he tried to muster up a smile.
"Oh, then get some rest, colonel," the doctors let out a sigh of relief as they dismissed out of the door.
But it was something, something worse than nightmare. One of the last nurses flicked off the light, leaving Colonel Roy Mustang sitting alone in the dark, his face buried in his hands.
Roy sat there for a long time, feeling droplets of sweat forming just below his hairline, sliding along his black hair, and landed on the back of his ghostly pale hands. Images begin to flash before his eyes, first in incoherent jumps, then slowly forming a more consistent movement like some old movie.
He saw the day when the victorious but half exterminated Squadron Nine arrive on trains. Even though the squad has successfully completed yet another duty, there were no celebrations. Some with broken arms in casts and some were limping along with the help of crutches, but most being lowered onto the station in coffins.
The then Colonel Roy Mustang was supported by Major Jean Havoc and watched from aside as they silently accounted each of the injured and deceased into their minds. But the one person they were there for was not present, neither walking nor lying dead in a casket. Brigadier General Velra Felix was marked as Missing in Action in the States records along with just less than half of the Ninth Brigade.
Roy lifted head gently away from his tear-stained palms and looked outside, marveled by the uncanny resemblance of the weather outside right now to the day when Squad Nine returned from their mission. For a moment, Colonel Mustang almost regretted taking on his new position as a member of the Ninth Squadron. He was afraid; no, more than afraid. He was terrified to see the grim, pale faces of the squad, terrified to meet Velra's former subordinates without seeing her familiar black eyes.
People rumored that the result might have been different if Mustang's squad had shown up and reinforced the Ninth. But his squad hasn't out of the concern of being without a leader. No one blamed him openly, but Roy knew what the people were saying behind his back.
Velra was a popular choice for a squad leader, known for her competence, calm nature, and strategic mind. The entire military mourned for the loss of a brilliant leader.
As Roy lay down once again, the echoes of Brigadier General Velra Felix floated through his mind like a melancholy chord before he drifted into a restless slumber.
"As a State Alchemist, sacrifices are inevitable. And I am ready to forfeit anything in order to achieve victory."