Chapter 7


Edward didn't understand what the problem was. Well, no; to be exact, he was aware of many problems -far too many problems- but this one in particular seemed impossible to grasp.

These damn nightmares.

He was getting absolutely sick of waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart lodged somewhere in his throat, lungs screaming for air, and hands shaking like leaves. He had always been plagued by terrifying dreams that returned frequently to remind him of his mistakes, but it at least didn't occur every single night like they had recently.

When his mother died and then again after the failed human transmutation attempt, they were at their worst. It was as if demons had infested the part of his brain that created dreams and wanted to make him completely miserable. But after some time had passed, they began to haunt him less, granting him respite at last.

It was just as it was back then: night after night, Edward feared falling asleep, knowing what awaited him as soon as he closed his eyes. He hated it. He hated that it bothered him this much. But he was at a loss of what to do about it. There was nothing he could do.

It has only been a few days since he decided to stay away from the cemetery, and nothing had changed. He wasn't sure what he had expected. There was still something he needed to do before he could put all of this behind him.

Perhaps the only thing that could put these demons at rest was to find Mustang's murderer and pay him back for what he took away. Get revenge on the man who had not shown his face in public once since the incident. The thought of it was enticing enough, but he found himself lacking the will to do anything at the moment. Regardless, how was he supposed to manage that much when the one person who could pull enough strings to permit such an act was dead? He ignored the fact that Mustang would never actually allow him to run after Scar in the first place, of course.

For being an insufferable bastard who was impossible to work with, Mustang was pretty easy to work with. Something told the blond that few colonels would allow someone like Ed to get away with as much as the Flame Alchemist did. He sure did a good job at showing his gratitude towards the man; by letting him die.

Edward pulled himself to a sitting position and rubbed his bleary eyes before glancing to his side. Alphonse was sitting against the side of the second bed, reading as he almost always did at this hour. If the younger brother noticed that Ed was awake, he didn't show it. He was probably expecting it at least, since this had almost become a nightly occurance.

Not wanting to interrupt his concentration just yet, Ed turned his attention around to gaze out the window. The sun was still hours away from rising and dark clouds morphed and shifted quickly, telling of an impending rainstorm. A soft breeze rustled the trees and carried the distinctive scent of moisture.

A soundless sigh escaped his lips as his eyes scanned the empty yard outside their dorm's window. He was never able to get more sleep after a nightmare like this, and tonight was no exception.

Maybe thinking so much about the murder of Colonel Mustang was only feeding his subconscious imagination. It has been weeks since the death, and yet the memory was still so fresh in his mind, as if he was standing in the empty streets of Central with Mustang just the other night. Edward thought that making frequent visits to the grave would somehow ease the regret and pain, and make it easier for him to accept what happened, but that had clearly not been the case.

If going to the cemetery less or not at all would put an end to these haunting dreams, then that's what he would have to do. But even when he decided that, something was missing. The desire to return at least one more time persisted, telling him that he needed to do one last thing before he could finally move on.

"Hey Al." His voice came out as a whisper, but it was enough to slice through the silence and grab his brother's attention. Al looked up at him as Ed slid his legs over the side of the bed and gripped the sheets besides him tighter than he had intended. "I'm going to walk around for a bit."

"Oh, I'll come too," he offered and moved to close his book, eager to do anything to cheer the older Elric up.

"No, that's alright," Ed cut in solemnly. "I want to go alone; just to get some air."

Alphonse paused, then reluctantly settled, his book subconsciously falling open again in his lap. "...Okay. Just don't take too long, alright? I think it's going to rain soon."

Edward nodded and rose from his bed, stretching his arms as he did so. After he threw on better suited clothes and shoes, and grabbed his watch, he was out the door minutes later without bothering to do any more with his hair besides tie it back.

More minutes passed by the time he finally made it out of the building. The humid breeze greeted him as soon as he stepped outside, making his way towards the main street. Summer was almost in full swing, but the monsoon was thankfully keeping the air from getting too hot for the time being.

Given the circumstances, it was perfect weather for visiting a graveyard.

One last time.

He would go to that depressing field and look down at the dull slab of marble one last time, and then he would turn his back to it and move on. He was given no other choice, because continuing on as he was could not be an option.

One last time.


Roy sat in the corner with his knees pressed against his chest and arms tightly cradled around them, lulling himself into an empty trance as he gently rocked forward and back. He felt neither alive nor dead, simply existing, wishing for one or the other. Anything to bring an end to this monotone, colorless existence. But no relief would come. He was trapped, and was beginning to accept it.

That in and of itself was perhaps the most frightening part; as soon as Roy accepted that he would be trapped here forever, all of his chances of escaping verged closer to death. That tiny flame of hope was the only thing that kept this vast darkness from suffocating him, but keeping it lit was appearing to be a wasted effort.

No one was coming for him. No one knew he wasn't buried under the gravestone they undoubtedly set up for him. No one would ever know.

They wanted to keep Roy there until he was needed, and intended to make him suffer throughout the duration of his stay. He didn't need to be told that he would not survive whatever they had planned. The word sacrifice echoed in his head more often than others, reminding him of why he was there, and reminding him that he was powerless. The last time Ed visited him- or whoever that was- he tried to convince Roy that he was actually dead, but running his hands over the scratched up walls and reading the notes he left for himself reminded him that they still had a purpose left for him.

Roy tried to fight back on multiple occasions. He was stubborn by nature and the very thought of cooperating made him sick to his stomach. Of course, that didn't stop him from considering it, until he remembered that it did not matter either way. They would do whatever the hell they wanted and nothing he did could slow them down.

Earlier, the one that called himself Envy came down to grace Roy with his presence again, taunting him with the food that he would have been getting if he hadn't decided to attack him. Envy laughed through the colonel's silence, mistaking his lack of a response for regret when it was actually nothing of the sort. Roy hadn't felt the same starvation as before since then. He supposed he just got used to the feeling until it was moved to the back of his mind. Always there, pestering, but now much easier to ignore.

Envy was entertained by this for only a few short seconds before boredom quickly caught up with him and he decided to appear inside of his cell again as if by magic. Either he had the power to shift through walls like a ghost, or shrink in size until he could squeeze through the cracks; Roy wasn't sure which, but both were beyond comprehension. Alchemy had to be out of the question as well. It has been a while, but Roy could not mistake the familiar sounds of an alchemic reaction large enough for someone to enter a new room, and none of these sounds were heard. There was always something, however. A crack of alchemic lightening perhaps, but he simply did not understand what it came from.

Whatever it was, it had something to do with Envy's ability to reanimate inside of the nearly air-tight room. He came there several times for no reason besides seeking entertainment in the form of Roy's pain. It was very similar to how he would hallucinate certain people that enjoyed cornering him. They all spoke with the same, if not a very similar, condescending tone made specifically to make him feel inferior.

At least, more often than not.

He also remembered seeing his friends, his staff, his team- laughing together. Happy. He remembered them suddenly averting their gazes as if he was invisible, then turning away to leave. They left. They left. Contemplating whether or not it was real or not no longer felt important to him. Perhaps it was all a fabrication, but he saw it. What really mattered was that he watched as they turned away and left him behind, in the dark, alone. He didn't blame them for it. It wasn't their fault, but it had hurt. Thinking back on it, he knew it was at that moment that all hope of being saved crumbled away. That was the final straw. And it was in that realization that he became truly alone.

He began to understand exactly what was happening here: Roy was not just trapped in a room somewhere underground, but he was in his own little bubble, detached from the world as it moved on, leaving him behind. He stayed static in this pocket of darkness, interminably trapped forever. The only change he experienced here was the buildup of injuries and the steady decay of his mind and body. He felt himself growing weaker in more ways than one.

Roy's arms stiffened, then fell to his sides. Breaking out of his huddle, his head fell back against the wall and he stared upwards where the ceiling was supposed to be.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked the empty room, almost as if he was speaking to himself. But he wasn't. He wasn't quite sure who he was talking to. His own hallucinations- the dogs- God, perhaps. None of them would listen to him anyway.

But they were listening. He was certain. They were always nearby, but always silent- watching him fall apart without any sympathy or regard. Perhaps they had him here for a reason, but to continue this torture- this agonizing nothingness had pushed him far beyond his limit.

"Are you happy now!?" he growled, voice guttural and tired. "I've given up! So just- just get on with it!"

His hoarse vice bounced from wall to wall, reaching no one's ears except his own. But they still heard him.

They heard everything.

They saw everything.

They didn't care.

Nothing happened. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Nothing, he supposed, but still, he was disappointed. He didn't want to keep suffering like this as whoever put him here only watched for reasons unknown. If they were planning something, then an end to this would come eventually, right? One way or another.

But he didn't want to wait. He couldn't- Roy was sure that if he had to spend another minute in this condition, he'd try again to rip his hair out, refusing to yield even after the pain became too much to bear.

"Hey!" An angry, snappish voice barked from further down the corridor before Roy could hear their footsteps. He jumped in alarm, instinctively pressing himself closer to the wall and further from the door. "The hell is wrong with you!? I can hear your whining from across the hall!"

Roy didn't respond. He didn't want to risk doing anything that would lead to another cracked rib.

"After all of that screaming, you finally got my attention. What do you want? Or are you just wasting my time?" Envy asked sardonically. Something told Roy that he was more than happy to abandon whatever he was doing to come here, considering how eager he always sounds to torment him. He considered none of it a few moments ago.

"I'm a very busy person, you know. I can't afford to come running here every time you begin to lose your mind. How are you going to make it up to me?"

Without thought, Roy raised his arms over his head defensively, expecting to be struck at any moment. Envy's voice echoed in the small room, but sounded distant and distorted all the same. It was impossible to tell if he was speaking from inside or outside, or even within Roy's own mind.

When the strike didn't immediately come, he slowly moved his hands to cover his ears, bowing his head as he fought to block everything out. The voices were so familiar at this point; hearing one of them would remind him of the others, crashing over him in an overwhelming wave.

He could already hear those damn dogs growing at him for existing in the same air as them. Envy had apparently said something else and whether it was Roy's silence or something else unknown to him, his captor began to laugh. The scraping sound merged distractedly with the barking and whispers of other voices from far away, out of grasp.

He heard them- felt them- spiral around his head, adding to the already suffocating pressure that came with the claustrophobia of being trapped for so long. It burned inside his brain, persistent and intolerable; impossible to ignore no matter how often he banged his head against the wall, hoping, praying, begging for it to just stop.

But it never stopped. The torment continued interminably and it made him want to scream.

In fact, he did scream, but it took a moment for Roy to realize one of the many voices that viciously swarmed together was his own. It was as though every sound grew a physical form so they could crush the life out of him under their weight.

By the time his tortured, hysterical screams came to an end, it wasn't because his throat had been run ragged and raw, but because a foot collided into his face from his hunched position. The colonel fell to his side with a hand already nursing his bruised cheek and bleeding nose as the other kept him from collapsing completely. The arm that had previously been torn apart by a rabid dog begged for respite as the open wound was pressed against the concrete, failing to give him much support as the clotting wounds reopened.

Roy heard someone yelling in a hostile tone, but the ringing in his ears made him incapable of understanding the words. However, he did not need words to sense the murderous intent of the monster leering above him, staring down with an aura that promised agony.

He was through with questioning whether or not the threat that loomed overhead was real. It didn't matter. He felt the danger in the air and didn't hesitate to shift further away from it, back pressed up against the wall, despite how pathetic he knew it made him deeply underneath the front of his mind.

Just as he expected, his efforts were in vain. The scraping voice continued, oblivious to the fact that Roy wasn't in any condition to make out a word of it, and its source shoved him off balance again with a poorly aimed foot to his shoulder.

He laid on the cold floor with no reason to sit himself up again, vaguely recognizing that he was being asked questions now. Multiple questions from multiple voices, all coming from different angles. Just as before- just as always- he couldn't keep track of any of them.

Without any warning that he was able to heed, two hands latched onto the collar of his shirt and heaved him upwards. If he had the strength, Roy would have fought against it, but he instead hung limply in the grip of his captor, not entirely present as muffled words were viciously spat at him.

When he couldn't see what was attacking him, it was easier to block it out and cling onto the hope that it would eventually go away if he gave it no reason to stay. Of course, his silence only further enraged his attacker. Envy snarled something again and shoved him towards the side and released his grip, allowing him to collapse into the wall, head first. His brain spun as he slumped onto the ground, nausea building with every passing second.

And then a shoe slammed into his stomach. He choked as the air was knocked out of him and lost all sense of balance even as he laid on the ground. Roy thoughtlessly pulled a hand up to cover his mouth as tremors ran through his body and what little was in his stomach inched up his throat. An irate voice echoed through the small room, but he paid it no mind as he choked and gagged on the floor.

With all focus trapped in the daze that was his mind, Roy almost forgot that there was someone else there with him, becoming accustomed to other presences shifting in and out of his space so frequently. He coughed on the sickening bile that he tasted in his mouth and eventually rolled onto his back when he could finally breath again.

Without the need to consider it, he continued to block out his surroundings as best he could, focusing solely on his breathing as the many voices muffled behind him. Just block it out, and it will go away. Doing so became the only coping mechanism that was accessible to him.

The realization that Envy had eventually left him alone came and passed, just as the voices muted as well. He couldn't bring himself to feel grateful, far too busy focusing on each shallow inhale and exhale, simultaneously trying to ignore the rancid taste in his mouth. He knew this respite was only temporary anyway.

He laid there for a while- hours, maybe- just hoping for the pain to go away, even though it never had in the past.

Without thought, Roy managed to drag himself closer to the nearest corner once he recollected enough energy. His mind and body protested the movement, but something pulled him forward. His bloodied arms stretched out in search for the rusty sink handle that he had been using as a pencil to scratch multiple words into the walls, and rewritten others for when he had lost sense of where everything was written. When he found it, he gripped the broken handle tightly in fear of it evaporating into thin air, uncaring when the sharp edged pressed unforgivingly into his skin. But now that he had it, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with it. Whenever Roy was etching something into the walls, that was when he felt most content. Or rather, the most sane- the furthest away from completely falling apart.

Because then, at least he had something to focus on besides the constant painful throb that cycled through his body. He could feel the vibrations of the metal rubbing against cement and the dust that fell onto his arms from each mark, and he savored every moment of it. It was the only thing he could actually do. It got to the point where he would just write words over and over again for no reason at all besides the fact that he enjoyed it until it became a habit.

Of course, that's not to say that doing this actually lessened any pain or made his situation look not so bleak. Doing something was better than nothing, but anything was better than being here.

With one hand tightly clutching the old sink handle, he slowly brushed the other over the nearest wall, silently reading the large, jagged words that were written there. His hand burned in objection, the skin already raw from the constant contact it's had with the rough cement walls, but Roy easily ignored it as he had every time before.

As he fought to keep himself balanced, his body weighed him down and his mind was drawing a blank, both too distracted by his own physical agony to do what he wanted. Roy aimed to preoccupy himself from the pain, but his will to even do that much was steadily fading. His arms lowered to his sides in defeat and he once again slumped against the wall.

What was the point?

Minor comforts meant nothing to him when he knew this torture was never going to end.

But... it could end, couldn't it?

They stripped everything away from him, but he still had one way out.

Roy held the rusty old handle in his hand and gently pressed his thumb onto the underside, studying the X shaped piece that was designed to turn whatever mechanism opened the water flow within sinks. Rusted and ragged, he knew it was more than capable of cutting through skin with enough force.

He further pushed the metal into his thumb, too numb to notice when it drew blood, contemplating to himself. Why not, Roy asked over and over again, some small part of him hoping to find an answer, yet failing miserably to do so.

No one was coming for him.

There was no way out.

He would be trapped here until they finally decided to kill him.

Why give them to satisfaction, when he could just as easily take it away? Just as they had taken everything away from him.


I've been staring at this chapter for hours and finally accepted that this is as good as it's going to get. Hope you're all as excited as I am! :D

Thanks for reading!