I was really at a loss as to how to make this chapter interesting, but eventually I got inspired with a little help from a very boring Bat Mitzvah with very cool décor (Girl who I hung out with the entire time, whose name I don't remember, if you're out there reading this, thanks for not getting freaked out when I started scribbling on purple index cards!). I'm going to lump two classes into the same chapter, since they're basically the same thing in two different rooms.

I'm not sure if I put the disclaimer into all the previous chapters, so I'm just going to put it in now. This goes for the rest of the fic, got it? I'm sure that all of you have heard this before, but I don't own FMA or anything you recognize.

On with the fic!

Hawkeye College

Chapter 7: Guns (aka the Parody Chapter, because there are three parodies in it: the Bat Mitzvah that inspired me, Accepted, and a certain manga Lab 5 scene.)

As we stepped cautiously into Hawkeye's classroom, she handed each of us a gun. Fullmetal, never having seen the likes of it before in his short life, immediately pulled the trigger.

"WHOA!" Instinctively, we all ducked and cowered. Falman squealed like a little girl. Umm…

"Ahem." We looked up and saw Hawkeye staring at us like we had three heads. "Did you really think I'd let you incompetents play with guns that were actually loaded?" OWCH. Burned. "Anyway…Falman…" She stared at Falman with mixed incredulity and disgust. "WHAT THE HELL!?!" (If anyone has seen "Accepted," I modeled this part on the part where they're exploring the building and the fat guy whose name I don't remember screams like a little girl when the mummy falls from the ceiling.)

Havoc raised his hand. "What she said."

Fullmetal nodded. "Affirmative."

Fury assented. "Roger."

Everyone looked at me, expecting to back them up on this. I searched my brain for a good synonym, wishing I had been on Thesaurus Dot Com more than once. "Umm…Amen?"

Havoc shook his head. "Colonel, get a dictionary."

It's called a thesaurus, foo'.

There was a loud CRAK, followed by a "GAAAAAH!" as Hawkeye banged her gun against Fullmetal's unsuspecting arm. "Sorry, Edward. I needed to get their attention," Hawkeye told Fullmetal dispassionately as he curled up in fetal position at her feet.

"Could you- possibly have- gotten their attention- in a way that- wouldn't inspire- Winry's wrath?" hissed Fullmetal.

Hawkeye ignored him. "So, guys, get to know every inch of this gun in your hand, and in an hour we'll start the real thing."

The real thing- like actually shooting people? Sounds fun. I'm in.

I didn't think that I would need an hour to figure out how a gun worked. After all, I had used them before. All it really involves is pointing and shooting, right?

And so, I ended up napping for an hour while my comrades familiarized themselves with their new weapons.

I drag myself off the life raft onto the deserted desert island. I'm tired, so tired, but I know I have to look for water so I can survive. I walk and walk and walk until I can't walk anymore. I hit the ground with a thud.

Suddenly a pretty woman is bringing a canteen to my mouth. She gives me water until I can sit up and drink it myself. She brings me some coconuts and bananas, and I devour them ravenously. Then I realize that she is wearing a miniskirt.

As if waiting for me to make this realization, she stands up and smiles at me. Suddenly there are twenty identical versions of her. I stand up, in a trance. The women surround me, they get closer and closer…

And then I woke up. Given that I have had this dream multiple times before and I know exactly what happens at this part, waking up to a shapely woman with an extremely malevolent expression standing over me is rather awkward.

"Er…um…" I made halfhearted excuses, but I knew what was coming. I had cheated death so many times today, but now it was the end of the line. I braced myself…

And opened my eyes. Hawkeye grinned. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to shoot you," she said. I sighed with relief. "They are…"

And then she knocked me out.

(!/:+--+:\!)

I woke up tied to several poles. I thought this was just a trick of Hawkeye's, until I looked down.

I had at least three dozen white balloons duct-taped to various parts of my body. What kind of ridiculous trick was this?

"So you've awakened. Good. Now we can start." Hawkeye's voice rang out from across the room. My subordinates were standing in a line next to her, looking scared and confused. Except for Fullmetal, who was laughing his shrimpy head off. "Now, I have loaded each of your guns with not bullets, but paintballs. Each gun is a different color. On my whistle, you will shoot and attempt to pop the balloons. At the end, whoever has the color that's on the most balloons gets a prize."

A PRIZE? That's not fair! I don't have a chance to get the prize, because I don't have a gun. "Hey, Hawkeye! I can still shoot, dammit! Give me a gun! Give me a gun!" ("I can still fight, dammit! Give me a body! Give me a body!")

(If this scenario went the way it went in the manga, Hawkeye would stab Mustang into oblivion. However, because these two scenarios are completely different, this will not go that way.)

Hawkeye completely ignored my tirade. Fury ventured to ask, "What's the prize?"

"You'll find out if you win it." Then she blew the whistle.

I don't know how long it went on, but I do know that I was encased in a small ball of noise and impact, and by the time the noise and impact receded, I was covered in paint and the balloons were lying, popped, on the ground. Hawkeye handed me a towel, picked up the balloons, and began to count them.

"Infinity, π, 36, 1, 5, OK, all done. The winner is…" Fullmetal, Breda, Havoc, Fury, and Falman waited suspensefully. "All of you!"

Fullmetal tilted his head sideways. "Huh?"

"Here's your prize. You all win," said Hawkeye, passing out the most delicious-looking chocolate chip cookies ever. "Except Colonel Mustang, of course, because he fell asleep in my class."

I whimpered, partly out of envy for the cookies that my subordinates were munching, and partly because of the murderous intent in her voice.

"Oh, all right. Half a cookie."

So, what do you think? I feel ambitious, so I'm aiming for 7 reviews. THAT MEANS YOU! They don't have to be novels, just say whatever. Those review alerts make my day…

PACIFY A CRANKY TEENAGER! REVIEW! (Please.)