Black Wings

Roy Mustang is kidnapped by a mysterious syndicate and is shaped into a deadly assassin. And so begins his double life as a soldier and the assassin ' Raven', as he is dubbed by his fearful targets and the public... Slight AU. T for violence, language and darkness.

Rating: T. There's gonna be lots of profanity, as you can probably tell by the end of the first chapter. Also I'll throw out a warning for violence as there'll probably be quite a lot of it, too. Yes, this is an-assassin-killing-people kind of fanfiction. I'd love you to read and review this story but if you're bothered by this kind of stuff maybe you should reconsider going on.

Notes: This first chapter took unusually long for me to write… Yup, three whole weeks. I don't really know why, maybe it's because of how uncertain I was of how to start it. I played around with a few openings and settled on this one. Most of the story isn't developed yet, so expect updates to come quite slowly. Expect some edits. I just know that I want Roy to be a cold-hearted assassin working under an unknown syndicate - I got a lot of inspiration from the Darker than Black series and also the Bourne films. I hope you enjoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and try to finish my latest chapter of Exorcist, my other Mustang-centered FMA fanfic. :)

Chapter One: "Oi, Featherheeeeeaaaaad!"

-Flash-forward-

The overweight man dragged his fat body through the deserted street, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His name was Livingston. His heavy panting seemed to be the only sound in the world to him. His arm was covered in crimson, where the bullet had struck him. Less than ten minutes ago, his evening had been peaceful. It had been shattered in half a second when an unknown assailant suddenly shot at him.

There was a flash of black from nearby. The fat man froze, his breathing ragged. He swallowed, trembling hard. "W-who the hell are you?" His voice came out as a pathetic whisper. "What do you want from me?"

He wasn't expecting a reply. Livingston turned to run to safety, only to be brutally slammed into the damp brick wall he had been leaning against. He cried out, more in terror than in pain, as he felt the stranger's grip at the back of his neck.

"If you scream, I'll kill you." A harsh voice whispered into his ear.

"P-please – "

"Shut up." The hand took his head and turned it so that his face was no longer in the wall. Livingston shook with fear. It was a masked man, not large compared to his violent strength. There was no telling what sort of face might be under the mask, which was dark as the man's hair; it was smooth, black and featureless. Normally Livingston would have laughed at the silliness of the mask, but at the moment, he'd never seen anything more frightening.

"W-what do you want!" Livingston screamed. "D-don't kill m-me…"

"I told you to be quiet." The man with the mask hissed. "Do you know where General Jonathan Amsterdam lives?"

Livingston was confused. "What?"

"I asked where General Amsterdam lives!"

"I-I don't know – " The masked man gave him a jerk.

"Don't take me for a fool. I know that you two are good friends."

"What do you want with Jon?" Livingston whispered, sweat glistening on his face.

"He needs to die."

"No! I won't let you – I won't – "

"Shut upif you're not going to tell me." It was then Livingston noticed the sharp knife at his assailant's belt. He suddenly felt his heart begin to beat even faster than it was already doing. The masked man was reaching for it now; Livingston trembled. "I think you're better off talking than getting your throat slit. Even if you manage to get away, I know who you are." The man flicked out the blade with expertise and pointed it at Livingston's throat. Just as the point dug into his skin and began to draw blood –

"Oi, Featherheeeeeaaaaad!" There was a loud yell from behind. Livingston gaped when he saw the small blonde boy with braided hair come flying into the scene. The man with the mask snapped his head around, and his free arm shot up with incredible speed, blocking the boy's leaping kick. This gave Livingston the opportunity to break away and run for it. He heard the boy's voice encouraging him to go, and in a matter of minutes he could no longer make out his words. Livingston leaned against a wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and breathed deeply. He was safe, at least for now.

Back where Livingston had been threatened, Edward Elric assumed his best fighting stance as he surveyed his opponent.

"So, this is the famous Raven, eh?" Edward wiped the sweat from his cheek, deliberately exposing his automail arm. The masked man gave no sign of surprise; he was obviously a seasoned fighter – calm, collected, analyzing… Ed hadn't expected his signature flying kick to be blocked so easily.

Alphonse came pounding along on the sidewalk. "Brother! What's going on?"

"We've found our guy, Al," Ed said to the suit of armour. "It's the 'Raven'."

Al gasped. "This is him?"

"Yeah, sure is!" With a confident grin, Ed clapped his hands, and slammed them to the ground. There were blue sparks everywhere; huge spikes suddenly burst out from the cobbled stones. Again, with incredible reflexes, the man flung out what seemed like a rope or cable of some sort – somehow, he'd made it catch on a nearby street pole – before Ed could fully grasp what was happening, the man had swung through the air using the rope, effectively planting a kick in Edward's stomach on the way. Alphonse cried out as his brother went flying, landing with a painful thud a few metres away. By the time Edward had gotten his bearings, Raven was gone, having left no trace of himself behind.

"Shit," Ed muttered as he got up, rubbing his sore stomach, "we let him get away, Al."

"I'm sorry, Brother – " Al began to say.

"Never mind," Edward shook his head, looking past Alphonse and into the dark streets. "We'll get him soon."

"What is that person?" Alphonse murmured. "Brother…"

For once, Ed didn't know what to say. He hadn't met an opponent like this in a long while. He flexed his automail fist. "I don't know, Al, I don't know…" He turned back to Alphonse, and grinned. "But I promise that we're gonna kick his ass."

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Four months ago

"Wake up."

Roy Mustang replied with a groan. "Not now, Lieutenant... five more minutes..."

"Now, Mr. Mustang." Roy did not move. A moment later, he was jolted by a sharp kick to the side. He frowned in pain; his body still refused to move. He was so tired. Since when did Riza kick him awake? He should tell her off... Roy groaned again, only to receive another nasty blow, again to the ribs. He tried to pull himself upright, his eyes watering, only to find that he was tightly bound at the wrists and ankles. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry. His eyes snapped open.

"What... the hell...?" He was on a cold cement floor of a room he didn't recognize. In front of him was a person, who was wearing a plain white mask, concealing his face. He was dressed in completely black clothes that contrasted sharply with the mask.

"Please, Mr. Mustang, we'd like you to wake up when you're told." The figure said in a thin voice of authority, prodding at Roy with his foot again.

Mustang's initial shock and confusion had changed into a fierce anger. "What the hell are you doing to me? Where am I? Untie me right now!"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot do that unless you agree to cooperate with us."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Cooperate with whom? You're wearing a mask the last time I checked!" Roy began to struggle against his bonds, only to feel how tight they were. The more he pulled, the more they cut into his wrists. He knew it was futile.

"I encourage you to be reasonable, Mr. Mustang – "

"That's Colonel to you, bastard." Everything about that stupid person with the mask annoyed him.

"Here, none of you have ranks, Mr. Mustang. You are all equal under us."

Roy gritted his teeth. "What is this place? Who are you? Who is 'us'?" He tried to think, to remember what he'd been doing the day before. He'd gone to work, gone home, gone to bed. It had been a perfectly normal day. But then, after that… it was just a white blank in his memory. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall anything.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you much. Everything about our organization must be kept secret. Now, Mr. Mustang, do you wish to be sensible and cooperate with us?"

"I don't give a shit about this organization, and I don't see why I have to listen to you."

"Logical thinking."

"What?"

"It is the first thing you must learn if you wish to survive here. Please, Mustang, let's think this through together, shall we? You," the man said, again nudging Roy with his foot, "are immobilized, in an unknown environment, with no weapons of any kind, while I know exactly what is going on, as well as being armed." The man reached into his coat and casually drew out a gun. Roy felt cold. "Now, don't worry, because I won't shoot you just yet. But that's only if you decide to follow my orders."

"Why?" Roy hissed. "What do you want with me?"

"Several things. You'll find out soon enough, Mr. Mustang." He put the gun back underneath his jacket, but now Roy found that he couldn't take his eyes off of the spot. "Aren't you curious, now?"

"Yeah, but why am I here?"

"You have an excellent calculating mind, good physical qualities, experience in the field, and you are fearless when it comes to fighting. We chose you for many reasons. You will do well in our program."

Roy's head spun. "What are you talking about?" He felt like he no longer had any strength to be angry. What was this? What the fuck was this? Some sort of messed-up military prank? What was going on? Had these people been stalking him for half his life?

"Please, Mr. Mustang, I'm the one asking questions."

Ignoring this, Roy said, rather faintly, "What do I have to do?"

"Follow orders. That is all."

There couldn't have been a less satisfactory answer. Mustang wanted to punch this man. He felt pathetic, lying on the floor like this. Follow orders? Who was mask-face trying to kid? As a military officer, Roy knew of all the terrible things he could be ordered to do by someone superior to him. He knew what it was like. He hated it. He absolutely hated it.

"What if I say no?"

"We must eliminate you, unfortunately. You have already seen and heard too much." I haven't seen or heard a fucking thing, you bastard, Roy thought viciously. He wasn't stupid enough to say so.

In the end, he only muttered, "Shit…"

"If you continue to be stubborn, we have no other way but to introduce you to our program the harder way. We'll give you time to think about it." He knelt down so that his face was close to Roy's. "Mr. Mustang, I advise you not to make any stupid decisions. If you change your mind, please do call for me without hesitation." Here, Roy was able to peer into those ominous eyeholes. Inside, he saw grey eyes that were as cold as ice. They were locked onto his own black ones, as if trying to scrutinize everything that lay within them.

"Who do I ask for?" Mustang said hoarsely, holding the gaze.

"Snake," The masked man whispered, and for a moment Mustang could have sworn that he'd just smiled behind his fake face. "ask for Snake."

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Roy was again jolted awake in a very rude way. He was beaten into consciousness all of a sudden, clobbered by some unfriendly fists. Gasping, his eyes fluttered open; he was faced with another person in a mask, this time one that was grey with what seemed like a cat's face engraved on its surface. Frankly, it looked ridiculous, but Roy had no time to laugh at it. As the person tried to kick him Roy quickly managed to roll to one side; to his surprise he found that his hands and legs were free.

What the hell is this? Even with this thought in his mind Mustang managed to duck from another blow; however, this cat-man was extremely fast. Mustang felt his legs getting swept out from under him as he fell, face-first to the floor, landing with a jarring thud. Giving him no time to even take a breath the cat-man drew out a long pole of some kind and dealt him another powerful hit to the abdomen.

Mustang gasped in pain, curling up around the spot; unfortunately that only left his back vulnerable to that stupid pole. He took more blows and he thought he felt something break, but he could do nothing, only shield his face and neck with his arms. Things became a little complicated when the pole was traded for a knife. When the white-hot pain tore down his shoulder, Roy, biting back a yell, kicked out and finally managed to catch his attacker unguarded. Adrenaline and the desire to stay alive fuelling his body, he sprang up to his feet and lunged at the cat-man. The knife came at him; he grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding it and punched the man's stomach as hard as he possibly could. It probably hurt his knuckles just as much as it had hurt his opponent, but that was irrelevant. Cat-man made a choking sound and swung his knife again; Mustang felt his pocket for his alchemic gloves but found only his silver State Alchemist watch. Cursing, he whipped that out, blocking the sharp blade with the chain, stretched tight and taut. There was the screeching noise of metal grinding against metal – the chain broke, and Cat-man went reeling, as he had probably put his entire strength into that arm alone. Roy felled him with an elbow to the back of the head.

There was a nasty crack when he hit the floor, then silence.

Mustang could hear nothing but his own panting. Grimacing, with his foot, he turned over the unconscious man. His mask had shattered from its impact with the hard cement. Surprisingly, the person was very young, probably no more than twenty-five years old. Perhaps even in his late teens. His chest heaving, Roy backed up against the wall, his hand holding his bleeding shoulder, and slid down into a sitting position. He couldn't tear his eyes from the boy's still form. What the heck was this? What kind of twisted game was this? Mustang tried to force himself to breathe normally but failed miserably; he was shaking and shivering as if he was ill. Red blood, bright red blood, stained his sleeve and the floor. Both his own and the boy's…

"Why…" Mustang leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This is a nightmare. This is all a stupid nightmare. I'll wake up, and I'll be back in Central, in my office, and Hawkeye's going to chide me for falling asleep instead of doing my paperwork… I'm going to wake up… I'm going to wake up… I'm waking up now… See?

Ah, shit, he was still in this cement room, the unconscious boy in front of him, his arm throbbing, confused as ever. He was so tired. He wanted to go home. Heck, he wouldn't even mind paperwork… Anything would be better than this…

After a while Roy realized that he should probably do something about his shoulder, as it was still streaming blood. Wincing, he shrugged off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. He got it off, tore a strip of it off and fastened it around the wound, tying it tight with his teeth. It probably wasn't a serious injury… Probably.

When he looked up again, he found a sword pointed at his nose.

He yelped and dove to one side. The blade very nearly cut his face open; instead it on sliced off a bit of his hair. Mustang wasn't very surprised to see another masked person in front of him. This time it was a bright red one. Wiping the sweat from his cheek, Roy said,

"What is it with this place and masks? Is it some kind of fashion or something?"

Instead of answering, the man charged with the sword.

Mustang was ready, fists raised. But not really ready. Definitely not. "You are fucking dead, mask-face," he whispered, feeling a whole lot less confident than he sounded.

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When Snake returned, he found Mustang sitting among a pile of unconscious bodies, his shirt in tatters, streaks and smears of blood everywhere. He smiled behind his mask. "Did you call for me, Mr. Mustang?"

"Yeah, I did." His voice was hoarse. He had no idea how long he'd been confined in this room, random men and even a few women, all masked, coming in to kill him every half hour. Counting the bodies, that theoretically added up to four or five hours… But he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He was so tired. He was tired of having to fight to stay alive, without knowing why. Perhaps that was the reason he'd stopped thinking altogether. The only thing that was obvious was that they wanted him to hurt others to survive…

"So? What is your conclusion?"

"That this is a really fucked-up place…" Roy staggered to his feet and stood straight, looking directly at Snake's eyeholes. "I thought you said that you'd give me time to think!"

"We did, Mr. Mustang."

"What?"

"We already did."

"But…" Roy's eyes widened in realization. "You mean…"

"Yes. We couldn't let you wait here forever while you ponder your answer, so we gave you some entertainment and a motive to call for me sooner than later. We never predicted that it would take ten trainees before you made up your mind."

"Bastards…" Mustang whispered, and closed his eyes for a moment, calming his breathing again. Trainees? He wanted to ask, but instead, he said, "If I say no, you said you'll kill me, right?"

Again, there was that infuriating smile in his voice. "I see you remember that part very well."

Roy's voice was flat and toneless. "I brawled with ten people in the past five hours and I'm still in one piece. You know what? I don't think I want to die after all this shit. I have things left to do. I'm not gonna have my brains blown out in a smelly little cement room."

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, bastard," Roy attempted to snap with some kind of ferocity, but he just had no more energy left. "I'll do whatever you want… just let me out of here."

"It looks like we've finally managed to get some sense into your brain, Mr. Mustang. Follow me." The door was opened. Freedom, thought Roy. Or was it?

He managed five steps before his legs finally gave way under him. Half a day of fighting without food or water had taken its toll. He collapsed on the spot. Snake turned as if he had been expecting this to happen, and removed his mask, leaving it dangling around his neck. He was a middle-aged man with angular features, cropped brown hair and steely eyes.

Snake bent down, picked up Mustang and slung him around his shoulders as if he were only a child. "We've got us an interesting one, Boss," he chuckled to himself.

TBC

Reviews anyone? Thanks for reading this far!