Disclaimer: No part of this publication is affiliated with, owned or endorsed by Square Enix, Madman Entertainment, Yen Press, or Monthly Shōnen Gangan to include any affiliation with the author and illustrator of the true Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) series, Hiromu Arakawa.
This story is being uplifted. This chapter has been updated and edited as of July 6, 2019.
Note:
• Keep in mind this is after the Promised Day, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (2009) and manga.
• I am using the city name Reole over Lior.
• Macro has already restored Roy Mustang's vision.
Chapter 1: The Mission
Major Riza Hawkeye's knuckles rapped lightly against the door. The brass handle turned, poking her head inside. Brigadier General Mustang's onyx eyes peered over the classified report in hand, leaning over his new desk in Central Headquarters.
A mockingly shocked tone came from the Major, "Sir, am I stumbling upon you doing… work?" His eyes narrowed as Hawkeye smirked. She quickly interjected before he had the chance of a rebuttal, "Colonel Elric is here to see you."
"Damn it, Hawkeye! How many times do I –" Mustang's eyebrow lifted, hearing Colonel Edward Elric mouthing off in the hallway, "- Argh! - just call me Ed!"
Entertainment at last! Mustang motioned for Hawkeye to let Ed in, gladly dropping the bound document upon the desk.
Riza pushed the door open, stepping to the side, making way for Edward's waltz in the office. The trademark red coat resting over his arm was thrown over the back of the guest chair. Ed plopped down into the seat as Hawkeye softly closed the door behind her.
If that arm, of recovered flesh and bone, wasn't enough of a testament to the Elric brother's determination and capabilities, then they had Al's living breathing body to prove more to any skeptic.
"I already miss your couch," fused Ed as he obnoxiously tried to find a comfortable lazy position in the chair.
"I shall make it top priority. There will be one here - just for you," responded the Brigadier General as the blonde began surveying the spacious gallant room. "And when people ask me why I have a couch in the middle of my office, I will be sure to say: because the Fullmetal Alchemist said so."
"Still a Colonel Bastard."
"Still a runt."
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A TINY ASS MEMBRANE INSIDE OF BAT SHIT?!"
Mustang's mischievous smirk plastered across his face. Admittedly, the kid was no longer a runt, but it would never stop the old 'Colonel Bastard' from taking a jab at him once and a while. With the air of happy nostalgia, "It's been a while."
Ed snorted. "Yeah and I see you've had an upgrade with the promotion." The room was elegant, spacious and warmly lit by the sun. Being placed in the corner office awarded that sort of luxury.
Mustang eased back in his plush chair. "I might move the team in here. The quiet ambiance gets annoying, feels a little pompous. Though with way you sashayed in here, everyone would think there was chaos in my ranks."
Ed's eyes snapped in his direction. "I will make sure to sashay into the bigger office, that you should be in, when I give you your 520 cenz back." Mustang swallowed a smirk. Yep, some things never change.
Now, that he had a moment to process without mission tunnel vision, Mustang found himself amazed at how much Ed had grown. The broken but determined soul of the boy in a wheelchair had molded into the infamous Fullmetal Alchemist, the Alchemist for the People. It was a drastic parallel. How lucky it was for everyone in Amestris, that the boy had not grown up to become a tyrant. Lucky, indeed.
The dark cycles under Ed's eyes gave away what the owner would not mention. Mustang brought his elbow to the armrest of the chair and placed his chin on knuckles, thus poking the subject, "Research keeping you up?"
Ed through a disbelieving grin, as if the 'General Bastard' wouldn't have noticed... "I'm bored. I have come looking for something to tinker with."
"You want to get back out in the field?"
Ed's gloved hand went through his bangs, pondering the ides.
Old habits die hard. Still sporting the gloves which use to hide the automail. Fullmetal repeated, "I'm bored. Research or field, doesn't matter. Though ... it will be a bit odd not having Al around." The last part seemed to slipped out before he could catch it.
Ah, now it was all clicking into place. Ed was not merely bored, he was ultra-bored. Having accomplished what he'd set out to do, and then some, while everyone else had a path to continue on. Al was in Xing studying Alkehestry, with the bonus of dating Mei. Winry was heavily distracted researching and working on automail prototypes in Rush Valley. Leaving the hyperactive Fullmetal Alchemist with the natural question: What's next?
After everything that happened on the Promised Day, Edward had achieved a permanent position as the only Alchemless State Alchemist in the county's military. The Fullmetal Alchemist was granted a reprieve in which he took up research. What could he possibly research? No one really knew. They all let Ed to his own devices, knowing he was dependable valuable resource, if needed.
As if in second nature, Mustang lifted the classified report, leaned over to pass to Ed who took it in hand. After glancing down at the cover, Ed questioned, "Isn't this place in the West?"
"Indeed, Pendleton is a remote town, northwest of West City. It grabbed Breda's attention, and after skimming it I have concerns of my own. A cult-" Ed groaned heavily at the instant reminder of Reole, not noticing Mustang's small smile at the reminder of days of old; the runt barging in, complaining, procrastinating, "You're the one who came here and asked for it."
There was a silence as Mustang gave Ed a few moments to read it over. Watching the golden eyes darted side to side, scanning the pages while that brain filtered through non-essential details. "I'll have to be undercover for this, the whole nine yards." And that was a yes to take on this mission.
"You name it, you got it." The runt earned the respect thus, get what he wants.
Ed's eyes looked up without moving his head, "What exactly do you want me to do?" Good, he learned to ask the right questions from lessons learned, reaching for the parameters and boundaries for the mission.
"Grab some more details. This one we are going to play by ear. That," motioning to the report, "might simply be well written to get us concerned. I want reports every week even if there is nothing to report, to decide action, if any action is needed."
Ed shook his head. "They will catch on if I am mailing something out every week. If it is a small town, one post office, the employee or employees, will recognize me. I'll find a way to call." A valid point, thus Mustang had no objections as long as he found a way. Ed stood, calmly grabbed his coat off the chair. Distractedly walking to the door, head down, still scanning the report. Upon opening the door, Mustang's voice caught his attention, "Fullmetal, keep safe."
Ed snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Fine, geezer, relax. This is routine." With a dismissive wave on the hand, that the nineteen year old walked out the door.
It took three days for Edward Elric to get all the necessary paperwork in order - from changing his name (only for the mission) to re-inventing a past. While he waited for the papers to be finalized, it took all his patience to keep away from the train station. Once Ed received the assignment, he was eager to get going. Something new, to get away, keep himself out of the mind. Thankfully, this was the perfect opportunity! This would help, it would definitely not be dull, and would help to keep his mental gears stimulated and off other things…
His inventory included a chest of clothes and a chest full of books; the rest of one's living needs would be purchase on site. On the trip to the remote town, he took the time to scrutinize over every detail of the classified document.
Pendleton had a prominent religious alchemist organization called "The Pluralistic Honor Institution of Science and the Heavens", shortened to PHISH, pronounced 'fish'. They were rapidly gaining credibility, momentum, and political sway. It brought together the idea that alchemic science and religion could coexist, holding to the idea that energy comes from the heavens, the earth, and anything in between. This energy was powerful and could, arguably, be harnessed by the will and devotion of the Alchemist. Moreover, one did not have to be an alchemist to be a part of the faction.
Phish was devoted to helping the people, spiritually and through bettering human existence. The methods used to achieve the latter were not defined, and Ed understood Mustang's concern. His own mind replayed horrible scenarios from the not so distant past.
The part where there was no requirement of being an alchemist to be associated with Phish worked well for him, since the Fullmetal Alchemist was alchem-less. It had taken some getting used to, though it had hardly rendered him useless. He still had his research, and knowledge, and the practical skills he had gained though the years and study. But he internally admits, that there was a bit of an emptiness without it.
No matter what, Edward would never regret the decision to bring his brother back. Having been prepared to give up his life to rectify the horrible choices he made, the loss of his alchemy was the best deal and he would have been stupid not to take it.
Putting his new IDs in the inside pocket of his recently acquired brown jacket, Ed glanced at the empty set across from him. Damn, he missed his brother. And with a sadness as if someone had passed away, his eyes moved to watch the grassy landscape passing by, soon wondering how this would all play out. Though, he could not be depressed, his bother was happy and so he be.
A moment later, a smirk appeared in the reflection as a kindling fire within his soul began to burn. Adventure time.
A detailed officially sealed report found its way to Mustang, written in Fullmetal's familiar hand.
Edward Elric alias: Timothy Hughes
Age: 24 yrs old.
Location: 125 South Main St. Pendleton, Western Section (Owner of the two-story home).
Current Employment: Ol'Lucky's Tavern 25 Main St. Corner of Main St. and Angel Blvd.
Alias History:
Born and raised by an Uncle in East City. Mother deceased, father abandoned family, brother met his fate in a train accident. The derailment also took the left leg, later to be replaced by automail in Rush Valley. Timothy Hughes inherited his uncle's talents as a broker. He moved to Central and became the main representative for the Mayor of Youswell, selling coal to the Military and other private industries. Being successful did not bring happiness, leading to the change of pace in lifestyle. He decided to move to Pendleton out of the city life and to enjoy a calmer existence.
Mustang sat back, smiling. Hughes huh? Smart to get a job at the Tavern, the best place for rumors. This will be interesting.
Before Ed knew it, it seemed as though he had been living in the town forever; a very kind and welcoming place, bigger than Resembool but smaller than Reole.
The undercover operative walked through the back entrance of Ol'Lucky's Tavern. A man with short brown hair, parted to the side, smiled warmly as he greeted Ed, "Good Afternoon, Tim!"
"Hey, Frankie," Ed replied to Franklin Turner, the first person to welcome him to Pendleton. Frank was a handsome fellow, about five foot, eight inches tall with olive toned skin, bright green eyes, and always hyper active. Frank was also employed at Ol'Lucky's, as the head cook.
A month ago, when Tim Hughes first stumbled through the doors of the tavern, the owner John Vash took an immediate liking to the newcomer. John, a twenty-seven year old with hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair, inherited the place from his late father. He was a member of the Phish organization, but not as devout as some of his customers or his girlfriend, Sally Dixon. She was a beautiful woman with brown hair and light red eyes that hinted at her Ishvalan descent. But she shared in none of the traditional practices of her ancestors; her name bore no connections to her heritage either. However, she still held some of the superstitions she was brought up with.
Ed shoved his gloves into his back pocket. He grabbed two white rags from behind the long bar, tugging one through his belt, and slung the other over his shoulder. His automail leg's additional weight thudded a bit louder against the dark wood floor, as he walked to the sink and retrieved small bucket. As it filled with soap and water, "Tim Hughes" fixed his hair into a ponytail, avoiding the use of a braid, afraid it might give him away.
He started cleaning the round tables at the front of the corner pub, and worked his way back past the poker table and billiard tables, eventually bumping against the bench for the piano which was tucked away, covered, in the corner.
Edward was deep in thought, and uncharacteristically unaware of his surroundings, for John was watching him work. Ed startled when the man spoke, "I must say, you are the hardest worker I have seen in ages."
Ed shrugged. "If you do a job, you do it right to the fullest extent," echoing sensei's words, going back to what he was doing.
"Sounds like something Father Cush would say." John took a seat at the table Ed was working on, causing Ed's cleaning hand to stop mid motion, looking up from his glossy reflection. John chuckled, shaking his head. "You were a blessing that walked through the door. We really needed you this whole time. Your help has us pulling in more money, and the front end has never looked so good. I want you to start working full-time on the weekends."
Ed smiled. Perfect. "I would love too."
John spoke as he stood up pushing in the chair, "I am having Frankie whip us up something before we open. Oh! Before I forget, would you like to join Sally and I this Saturday morning?"
Ed raised an eyebrow, "To a Phish meeting?"
John nodded. "Sally spoke to Father Cush about you being a newcomer and all, and he wanted to personally welcome you to town."
Ed nodded. "Sure." Even better…
That Friday night, the pub was packed. The popular bartender pulled himself away from the bar for a just moment to get some fresh air, away from the musky cigar fog. The melody of the piano played loudly, then became muffled through the door as it closed behind him.
Frankie was outside, sitting on a wooden crate with a smoke in hand. Noticing Ed's presence, "Congrats, Timmy! You are stuck working more hours with me." Ed was starting to get use to his new name.
Ed smirked. "I think you have it the other way around."
The retort earned a chuckle. Frankie took a drag, wisps of fine white smoke billowing from his lips as he spoke, "Going to Phish Saturday, I hear?" The blonde gave the cook a questioning look, as if asking how he knew. Frank replied offhandedly, "John can't stop talking about it."
Taking another wooden crate off a sack, Ed sat with his coworker. "I thought I would just check it out. It sounds interesting, though I'm not a god-loving or fearing man myself."
Frankie nodded, as if agreeing he fell in the same category. For a moment, there was a silence between them. Ed was hoping that Frankie would continue, which he did, "They have a way of 'inspiring' people." This was the first time Ed got to hear other impressions of this faction. Frankie took another drag, then shook his head as if to clear thoughts before voicing them, "I dunno. It seems awfully fishy to me." They both started chuckling. "No pun intended."
Hoping for even more of an elaboration, the undercover Colonel, relaxed his posture, leaning his back against the brick, asking, "Why do you say that?"
"I'm no educated elitist, but something annoys me when religion starts swaying politics." Leaning forward, resting his elbows on the knees, Franklin continued, "Did you hear the mayor, who happens to be the minister of Phish, wants to force a ban of the Ishvalan's traditional wear. It's their right," throwing his arm out as if to point to a group of Ishvalans, "if that is what they believe in and if it has to do with religion or culture, they have a right to that heritage, you know? Their families ran from the other side of the country to escape and hid in this town, due to the war." Franklin shook his head again. "Something's not right, people get blinded by that shit." He stood up, flicking his cigarette butt away, and clapped Ed on the shoulder. "I'm not tellin' you not to, I am just askin' for you to keep an open mind is all."
Ed looked up as Frankie opened the door to the kitcken and said, "Heh, you haven't had the chance of really meeting me yet."
"Fine, then we're going to hang out off shift at some point in time. Leave your address with me." Frankie took a step inside.
Before the door closed, Ed sassily shot back, "Fine!"
The cook's head popped into view once more. "FINE!"
Hm. A friend.
Later that night, Ed walked home, feet sore and wrists achy from all the serving, pouring, and polishing. It's not like he wasn't use to hard work, but it wouldn't matter if he were Major Alex Armstrong, that type of work was always stressful on the joints.
As he pushed the waist-high gate open, it fell off it's hinges. Taking the two wood creaking steps up, before unlocking the paint peeling door. Once crossing the threshold, Ed closed the door with a successful latch of a lock. Signing, he looked around the moonlit, old place. It was in need of tender, loving care, elbow grease, and some kind of miracle. Reminded him of when he and his brother had to do the odds and ends at Pinko's. Maybe all those chores were leading up to this very moment.
Shuffled over the desk and chair facing wall, the only furniture in the room. A swift pull on a small brass chain turned the dull lamp light on, casting a yellow hue over the desk which spilled out to the floor. Papers were already strewn all over his desk, notepads layered on top of open books, and he shuffled through it all to find a fountain pen. He pulled the chair out and sat down.
A fireplace behind him, charred and empty.
Once cap was pulled from the fountain pen, ink started flowing. Everything streaming through his mind went down on paper, as though his life depended on it. He tried to bottle it up all inside, but something inside his brain, like a neurological tic, would not let him be. At times it was because he feared he would lose the information stored in the biological mess of a brain, other times it was for some kind of release not even he could explain.
A piece of paper that seemed blurred with ink fell to the floor. The work, the mission, it was distracting, but it still wasn't enough. The whispers… all the damn time, instigating thoughts, ideas, outstanding possibilities, all collided especially when he was left alone with his mind. It was nothing malevolent. It all had to do with Alchemy. The gift he could no longer release.
No matter where he went, or what he did, his mind would start drawing circles behind his eyes. White lines on objects, transforming things within thoughts, how to fix this, or make that better, or maybe there could be experimentation on that to make it do this other thing. Mathematical theorems, ancient arrays forgotten over time, the algorithms, the ruins of Xerxes, equations, fables that hid truth, geometry, graphs… he could not escape it.
What made it worse? The nightmares. Nina. He felt he was so close to finding the answer that could have saved her. If there were successful chimeras, then there had to be successful separations. But as of yet he was so far from that truth. Not that he would try if he could, but the possibility he was not that useless of a human, was a tempting thought. He had to know for sure! There was a connection with his and Al's human transmutation circle, and the last bits he could remember from Tucker's array. Still, something was missing, but requesting those documents would raise a red flag…
Everything was daunting; he could not stop thinking. Ha, thinking. Silence was not golden, it was deafening, even when his mind was screaming. Could that even make sense? No, maybe not… so damn frustrating… until he was mentally exhausted.
That damn gate… A whisper flew though his thought pattern. With all that you have studied, where is the control?
His own mental voice responded, 'Control of what?'
Control of Fire.
Ed stopped his furious scribblings. He never thought of that before. Ha! Something he had never thought of before?
There was nothing out there he ever came across… anywhere close to Roy's work… nothing in the libraries, no whispers in his travels. "Huh…"
That night, he passed out at his desk after his relentless drawings, making connection after connection until his mind was wasted and satisfied.
The array on Roy Mustang's gloves smeared on Ed's face as he slept. The last circle would start tomorrow's work; he would try to figure out the secrets behind the mystical Flame Alchemy.
Ed even left a little note as a reminder: Call Sheska.
Saturday morning came quickly. The sunlight reached his eyelids, waking him. Ed got up showered, put on decent clothes, told the milk man to always skip his house, to not to even think about it. Even offered to pay him to NOT to show up at his place…
Timothy met John and Sally at the café, which was located about a block up from the tavern. They walked together to the other side of town.
The building was not tall, but it was grand. There were white marble stairs leading to amazing doors. The Pluralistic Honor Institution of Science and the Heavens written in gold on the facade. Ed had to keep himself from rolling his eyes, so much of it resembled Letoism. Now if there were chimera guards, an egotistical manic, and a fake stone, he would be compelled to just say 'fuck it' and walk away.
There were three buildings attached to each other. To Ed's eye, they were attached by alchemic means.
Once inside, his mouth dropped. Yes, it was extravagant, art and science intertwined in the creation of this church. Huge beautiful stained glass windows were on the front and back of the building, with tales telling of century old lessons. Intricate carved arrays, accentuated by gems where lines met, and all different metals melted into runes and symbols.
The architecture of the building had stadium seating that fanned out from the center, where the altar and podium faced the crowd. They found their seats. The high priest was speaking today about the beginnings of known alchemy. "Hundreds of years ago, the Philosopher from the East…"
Ed, knowing the story, was distracted by the carved imagery.
At the end of the service, they stood as the high priest walked out first. 'Check' to the egotistical guy, let's hope they lack the other crap. Sally was in awe. "Wasn't that fascinating?" She grabbed onto John's arm as they headed out, but that's when Ed saw it, the tree, raised and molded into the stone.
He slowly moved over to it, starring. There were things missing but it resembled the one on the door to Father's lair, and on the gate. Ed squeezed his eyes shut, room's light became a blaring ray to his retinas, a second after receiving a splitting headache. His mouth went dry. Flashing memories. Heart raced as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Someone caught him as his knees buckled. He was eased down onto a nearby bench, "There you go son."
John and Sally were now at his side, also. Ed looked up at the humble man. He was a priest, as indicated by the robes he wore, and seemed no older than forty. The man asked again, "Are you okay?"
Ed rubbed his temple; this was a bad time for this crap to happen. What kind of reaction was that? "Yes, sir, I'll be fine." He felt the priest's soft hands tap on top of his. Had this guy worked a day in his life?
John interrupted, "Father Cush, this is Timothy Hughes."
"Oh! The new fella! Ah! John, would you be so kind as to run and get this guy some water? It seems as though he may be dehydrated." Yes, dehydrated, Ed liked this guy, he made the excuses for him! John left with Sally to fetch the water. The priest sat with him. "So Mr. Hughes, how did you like the service?"
"I was a bit distracted." A shiver went down his spine thinking about the mock gate on the wall next to him. Focus. Ed looked around at the now empty church. The priest joined him in surveying the splendor, asking, "Are you an alchemist?"
"No, but I study it as a hobby, theorist of sorts."
The priest laughed. "A hobby? Can you not perform it?"
Ed shook his head, the priest humbly chuckled. "Some of it I can't wrap my mind around, yet a man like you sits here understanding it and unable to perform it. There is always a method to the madness, isn't there?"
The understatement of the century.
To be continued...
Next up: There is another newcomer in town. Ed gets to investigate a little more into the 'projects' this Phish.
Not to mention the response the people have about the organization.
Chapter 2: Its Science
Please review. And if you do review as a guest: Nickname yourself anything you want, so I can refer back to you!