Well, here's the next chapter. God, 1st term is almost over so the teachers have been piling so much work on us. But it's a long weekend, so I can really relax. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's a fight in there somewhere, but it's short and not the magical kind. Please be patient. It's coming up, I assure you.

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA and/or SINF.

Now. Go on. Read it to its full glory.

There was nothing worse than getting lost in the middle of the night while trapped outside in a freaking rainstorm.

Edward Elric lived for the worst.

He was too prideful sometimes, but he knew when to ask for help. Right now, he needed help, and was even given a chance for one by a certain blind shopkeeper—albeit a slightly insane one. But there was one problem.

How was he supposed to ask Dora for help when he didn't know where she was?

Maybe he should have paid more attention to her directions when he was leading her home. But then, he was too busy thinking about why she chose to wear sunglasses in the evening. Sunglasses, of all things! This world was turning his IQ to mush.

For now, his best chance was to walk around aimlessly until he found a familiar landmark or a shelter. Most of the stores were already closing, though, and it wasn't like they were going to let a soaking wet stranger stand in their store, getting the floors wet in the process.

Edward zipped open his black duffle bag containing the money and put the boxes of light bulbs inside. God, all that trouble for some light bulbs.

He then shielded the bag from the rain by putting it under his coat. That way, everything else was kept dry and he didn't have to walk around looking like a robber. It was amusing to think of him as one, but it as also less amusing if someone caught him at it.

He shook his head, smiling to himself. Cold water dripped from his bangs, his clothes sticking to his skin like wet, cold adhesive. His overcoat made the absorbency rate much faster. There was a way to fix it, but he had to find somewhere to stay dry first.

And besides, he needed to get to the bank, so why not the bank?

Walking down the street and turning a corner, he was a block in before he spotted the bank. It wasn't a too fancy building, but it was certainly bigger than the rest with white-washed walls and a revolving door.

A revolving door! That kind of thing fascinated Ed to no end. He'd seen automatic doors and a normal door, but he hadn't seen revolving doors yet. He praised humans for their creativity. Maybe he'll take a trip to the library later to see what else scientists have accomplished in 88 years.

And just when he thought that, images flashed through his mind, forcing him to lean against a nearby wall for support

The picture of a cash register spun into his vision. The image zoomed in on the machine and then into it, giving Ed a glance of all the machinery and complications that went into making sure the cash register work properly. As fast as the image came, it went, and then was replaced by another.

Now he was seeing a flat device that folded up, its top part flickering on to reveal a bright and vivid screen. The other half had square buttons on it, white letters and numbers printed on each individual square. The scene changed again.

He was looking at a boat, but not just any boat. It was a very large one, a cruiser, it was called. It could hold up to 5000 people. The scene changed to a car, but it was more sophisticated looking with a lot more options and buttons. Its outer coat gleamed with a metallic sheen. It was new and completely spotless.

Each image changed whenever new information was added to his head. Edward wondered why it chose now to give him all this knowledge; he didn't see any good from it, other than an amusing topic to talk about to pass the time.

But he supposed it would come in handy. Like, make him sound more modern instead of 1920's olden-style. Yet these were simply machines and electronics, nothing special. Still, now that he knew all these things, he felt regretful that he couldn't find out on his own.

After the info process was finished, Ed noted that this time, the pain was tolerable and not so high. The entire process took less than ten seconds in real-time. It was easy to just push off the wall and keep walking.

Edward eventually reached the bank, standing under the stone roof and shaking off all the water. He brought his hands together and transmuted himself dry, and then he made the move to enter the building.

Inside, he ended up looking around to see where to go. This town was pretty big now, but it was in no means as populated as San Francisco, or even that rich. The bank consisted of a waiting area and a small booth where a single banker worked. The other spaces were occupied by the ATM machines, and the public bathroom.

"Not much is it," he said to himself, heading for the banker. Honestly, he expected something a bit . . . what was the word—extravagant? Even before the war ravaged the country, the banks of the 1920's were fancier than this, with felt carpeting and brass decoration.

The lady at the desk looked up from signing some paperwork. "Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"

Edward reached inside his coat and brought out the black duffle bag. His head darted from side to side before setting the bag onto the desk. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Overall, he looked like a very shifty person. His strange appearance didn't help any, with that eye colour, and long hair even though he was plainly male.

But that was only in the banker's prospective.

Edward wondered what happened to her. She was staring at him as if she saw a ghost. He blinked. "Hello? Miss? Are you okay?" He waved a hand in front of her face.

No response.

"I should have bought contacts," he said to the side. "And dyed my hair. Well, too late now." He had no idea how he knew they were called contacts, but he guessed it had something to do with Truth's strange knowledge exchange with him.

Again, he tried to get the banker's attention. But all she did was yell "ROBBER!"

Edward did his hardest to calm her down. "Look," he said, yelling, "I am not a robber! If I was one, do you think I'd be that stupid to come here of all places to stash the money? Come on, lady, think about it. I realize how the media make people seem like they're idiots, but that's not true."

The banker did look visibly calmer. "You . . . You're not a robber?"

"Of course not!" he said, exasperated. He sighed. "Now could you please take the money and put it into Van Hohenheim's account?"

He didn't know if the account was still open, since Hohenheim was dead, and that had been 88 years ago. Of course, he'd given it to his eldest son, and since there was no record of Edward dying, it should still be there.

The banker typed something into her computer. Her eyes scanned the screen, and then looked back at him. "Yes, everything seems to be valid." Edward let out a breath. "I'll just take the money. Do you want it all deposited?"

"I'll keep ten grand with me," Edward said. "Oh, and I'll need the bag," he added.

The banker nodded, and then made off with his bag. A few minutes later, she came back and handed the duffle bag to him. "Everything seems to be in order. Ten thousand is in that bag, and uh . . . I wasn't sure if you wanted the light bulbs deposited, so I just left it in there."

"Oh." He'd forgotten he had light bulbs with the money. "Oops."

"No problem, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yeah," he said. "You have a good night."

"You too, sir."

Edward left the building and into the rain again. It was pouring more fiercely than ever. If only he had brought an umbrella with him! There were a couple by the door, and he didn't even grab one. Dora would have let him. Right? He was pretty sure.

…Nah. She'd something like, "No, idiot boy. You must withstand the rain on your own, without any help or shelter. That's the only way you're going to get through life. You have to carry your problems and deal with it yourself, not have others help you."

He didn't know how shouldering the problems of your life related to rain, but the woman was crazy. He'd let it slide for now.

Maybe he could find a computer somewhere and search Dora's place up on Google Maps. Wait, he didn't know her address.

"The 21st century is weird. They have such ridiculous names for a map app," Edward said, walking off. "And to think a few minutes ago, I would have never known any of these things at all . . . They can't help me in my situation. Tch. Useless."

As he made his way down the street, he passed by a restaurant that offered Internet service, but he knew that would be useless since he didn't have a laptop or computer to begin with. He could get one at that moment with all the money he had, but he would get himself more lost.

He squinted into the distance, trying to see the street name on the traffic lights. He couldn't see much past the pouring rain, even though he knew he should have. He narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe I'm finally going blind," he said.

Alphonse had mentioned once or twice that his eyesight had been declining—probably due to all that reading in the dark—but he didn't want to believe his younger brother. Plus, he didn't have the time to get some glasses and put them on. Better yet, with all the fights and battles he's been in, the glasses would shatter two minutes in.

He should get contacts after all. But they must have been uncomfortable to wear. It's not a bad idea, though; it could conceal his eye colour as well. He'd decide that later. For now—

"Where am I?" he wondered, heading into some kind of alley and appearing at the other side.

Apparently, this alley led to another alley.

"Who plotted this town?"

He was almost at the other side when he realized it was a dead end. (Yes, he really needs those contacts. He couldn't even see the obvious brick wall in front of him. Believe me; the rain makes his eyesight much worse than it is. It's milder in the daytime.)

Edward was just in the middle of turning around and heading back before he heard the distinctive sound of shuffling and footsteps breaking the gravel underneath. It was getting closer and closer. He turned around slowly…

…and spotted half a dozen figures in hoods approaching him.

Maybe he could ask them for directions.

They were almost on to him now. Better get straight to the point.

"Hey, guys," he called out. "I'm wondering if you could tell me where Dora's store is. You know Dora, right? It's a pretty small town; you should know her. Hey, uh . . ." He trailed off, seeing one of them taking out a shiny metal instrument.

It was a switchblade.

"Oh . . ." They're not going to help me.

Those hooded figures took another step closer.

"Never mind," he said, suddenly feeling something very bad about this situation, "I have to run. Later!"

He tried shoving past one of them, but was blocked. Edward backed up a few steps, his back almost hitting the brick wall behind him. His light-hearted, naïve demeanor drained away to reveal his more serious yet reckless persona.

These guys had a killing intent. They weren't going to let him go unscathed. Whoever they were, they weren't peaceful passersby.

It was time he stopped treating this like a game. All his military experience came rushing back to him, everything he had gone through whilst being in his old world. Two years ago, he was Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, the same one that did things in his own way, to never follow proper orders.

A hooded man in the very front stepped forward. He was the same one holding the knife. He spoke, voice low, "Yeah, we know Dora. But you've got no business on our home turf. What are you doing here, kid?"

"I'm trying to find her," Edward replied cautiously.

There was a bark of laughter from the back.

"Kid," the first hooded man said, "we ain't gonna let you go so easily, now that you're here. No one's going to help you. You do realize what this place is, right?"

Edward stayed silent.

Good choice.

"Whatever," hooded guy said. "We'll deal with you properly."

"What are you guys—robbers?" Edward asked.

More laughter.

"Kid, what are you—from the 20th Century?" Well, actually . . . "No. We just a bunch of members from the local gang nearby. This is our headquarters you just trespassed upon. You're gonna pay for that.

Gang? the alchemist thought. What's a gang? Is it some kind of mafia variation?

Were they a religious group or something?

"Well, kid, you look like you've got a good pound of cash there. Mind if we . . . take a look? You don't mind, do you?"

"I mind," he replied without thinking.

Bad choice. Probably one that was going to get him killed.

"Oh do you?" the first hooded guy said. "Well, then we're gonna have to force that from you, won't we, boys? We don't particularly like the rich folk. They think they can steal everything from us."

The other hooded figures nodded their heads and shouted some sadistic agreements. Then they each took out their respective weapons. Most of them were knives. One carried a set of tonfas. One of them had a gun. The gun he had to worry about.

Edward knew that a fight was about to go down. And it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Just one question," he said.

"So you want some last words?" first hooded man asked. "Sure, we'll give you it."

"Are you a religious group?"

The hooded figures looked at each other. Edward imagined them each having their own versions of a confused face. Then they all seemed to reach a decision simultaneously. First hooded guy nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that. But those are a strange choice of last wor—"

"Good," Edward interrupted him, dropping his black bag on the wet alley floor, "I never liked religious groups."

Those gang members never saw it coming.

The blond kid came forward so fast; none of them reacted fast enough. In a second, half the guys were taken out. No one knew how someone could move so fast. No human could move so fast. The kid was doing some kind of complicated martial arts.

At one moment, he was nailing someone in the stomach with his fist, and then without faltering, he would swing around and kick someone else in the face. Not even three seconds later, more than half the gang was on the ground, rolling around in pain.

Edward rounded on the last few people. He cracked his knuckles for effect.

"It was never going to be pretty," he said. "At least, for you."

One of the last few conscious gang members was the one who had the gun. He shakily pointed the firearm and let loose the round, the loud, ear-shattering bang echoing through the air. The gun dropped from his hand.

The kid in front of them did not sway. Instead, he clutched his right arm, studying the wound that was not there.

"You are even worse a shot than that Eckhart woman . . ." they heard him mutter.

And then the blond looked up again.

"You should have been dead!" the guy who'd shot him hissed.

Edward started forward, and the gang members took a few steps backwards. But soon, they their backs hit the alley wall.

"Unlike you, I don't kill just because somebody trespassed on my headquarters," Edward spat mockingly. He was standing directly in front of them, his right fist raised. "And do you know why I'm not dead?"

The last thing any of them saw was the hard glint of shiny metal.

In the distance, they heard footsteps and a faint, "Prosthetics, assholes. Think about it."

It wouldn't matter in the end anyway, Edward decided, looking at all the prone bodies on the ground. The rain would wash away any trace of what happened, and the so-called 'gang' wouldn't remember a single thing.

He picked up the black duffle bag and walked back down the alley, stopping along the way to transmute the gang members' weapons into liquid metal. Then he continued on, hands in his coats pockets.

"Wait."

Edward turned around.

One of the hooded men was still conscious, his broken body propped up against a wall.

"You talking to me?" Ed asked.

Instead, the man just waved him over. Edward did just that and crouched down beside him. He waited patiently for the man's words.

"Why?" the hooded figure asked. Edward recognized his gruff voice as the first hooded man that spoke with him earlier.

"Why what?" he said, giving a shrug.

". . . Why did you leave us alive?"

"Alive? You're kidding, right?" Edward shrugged again. "I don't know. You tell me. What does killing someone benefit you? Does it make you feel good?"

The hooded figure was silent.

"You see," Ed began, "I don't believe in killing. I think it's just overrated and too dramatic. Listen. If you want to get ahead and life and feel good about yourself and the things you do, I suggest you go to school, graduate, and get a job."

"Is . . . Is that what you did?"

"Hell no," Edward said. "I dropped out in elementary school."

There was a gagging sound from the hooded man.

The alchemist smiled. "I left you all alive because you could do so much better. That's all."

The man nodded. Then he reached up and took down his hood. Edward saw a mop of blond hair and startling blue eyes. But the thing was, the man turned out to be a boy no older than 17. Edward felt a pang of sadness. Someone as young as that to join something so corrupted and bizarre . . .

He shook his head. "I guess I should go now. Take a word of advice from a fellow stupid idiot . . . Leave whatever gang thing-a-ma-jiggy you're in and lead a proper, healthy life. Don't go off finding trouble and fighting people you shouldn't fight. It'll only get you trapped and without help from your loved ones."

"Is that true?" the boy asked.

Edward scratched his head. "Yyy . . . yes," he managed to get out. "Just take my word for it."

"Mm'kay. Thanks for the advice," the boy replied weakly. It was funny to think that here he was—after four years of being involved in a gang, he was being told off by a guy who called the gang a, and I quote, 'thing-a-ma-jiggy'.

The taller blond stood up and waved. "Well, see ya. Let's hope we don't meet again."

"Sure . . ." the boy on the ground began to say, and then he caught himself. "Wait!" he called to the other blond.

Edward turned.

"What's . . . What's your name?"

The Amestrian considered answering that question, but seeing as it couldn't hurt, he agreed. "It's Ed."

"Ed? That's it?"

"Well, it's actually Edward, but calling me that makes you sound like either my superior or a very pissed off arch-enemy. So yeah. Just call me Ed."

This is a strange kid, the previous shrouded figure thought to himself. It doesn't look older than me by much, and yet it sounds as if he's gone through far worse . . .

"Is that all?"

"What's that?"

Ed blinked. "I said: Is that all you wanted me to say?"

"Well . . ." Cue uncharacteristic sheepishness. "Earlier, you said you wanted to see Dora. I know her. We go to her for supplies all the time. She thinks we're good kids. But anyway, she lived near the intersection of Marryat Blvd. and Trench Street. You should hurry. She gets worried easily."

Edward tilted his head to the side. "Why are you telling me this?"

The other boy shrugged. "Because you beat us. I tell you what you want to know if you beat us. That's how it works in the gang."

"Your religious group is rather messed up," Edward said.

"Yeah. I guess."

"But you didn't tell me your name."

The boy looked up. "What?"

"If I told you my name, you need to tell me yours."

"O-oh. It's Jack."

Edward nodded. "Nice to meet you, Jack. See you later.

"Bye, Ed," Jack said. "I suppose everything is fair, now, huh?"

"Fair?" Edward said to himself. He smiled knowingly. "Yes. I suppose it is."

Without another word, he turned around and left. He was once again thrust into the torrential downpour of the midnight rainstorm, but this time, he knew where to go. He remembered seeing Trench Street before, so if he kept going on that, he'd hit Marryat Blvd., right?

True to Jack's word, Dora's shabby store sat right in the corner of the intersection. It was the store that had very dim lightning. Well, not anymore.

Edward burst through the door, thinking it was locked, but the door opened with no ease at all. He almost fell on his face. He quickly got up and shut the door behind him before any of the rain got in.

Then he turned around, and came face to face with Dora.

He yelped, tumbling backwards and hitting his head on the front door. He groaned, rubbing his smarting scalp. And then he opened his eyes, trying to glare at the woman who caused his pain.

But he couldn't.

His eyes widened as he realized Dora didn't have her sunglasses on. Instead, shiny mirrors took the place of her eyes.

It was the creepiest thing he'd ever seen.

"He's not dead, Alphonse."

Al looked up. Saint-Germain seemed to be in deep thought. "What do you mean?" the boy said cautiously.

"I mean," the count began, "he may be gone, but he's not dead."

Joan nodded enthusiastically. "He's right. Edward is reckless, temperamental, egotistical, self-confident, hot-headed, irritating, indecent—"

Francis coughed.

"—but there's no way he's that stupid. He won't kill himself off that easily; as long as you're still alive, he'll keep living as well. It's only the matter of finding him."

"Really?" Al asked, unconvinced.

"I'm sure of it! You know him better than I do."

"Which is the reason why I know he's gone off somewhere and done something really stupid," Alphonse said, sighing. He shrugged dejectedly. "So what now? If he's not dead, then how can we find him?"

Saint-Germain was quiet.

"No, really," Alphonse persisted. "Tell me."

"I . . ." the count stammered. "I think . . . we have to go talk to an Elder about this."

Al jumped up from his place on the couch. His head spun for an instant before settling. He wobbled on his feet. But still, he managed to ground out, "What are you saying, Francis? Don't tell me we're going to those guys and asking for their help! Didn't you say they couldn't be trusted?"

Joan ushered the boy to sit back down. "Now, now. Calm yourself, Alphonse. Just . . . just let us explain, all right?"

The youngest Elric reluctantly did so.

"There are certain…Elders…on Earth," Joan began slowly, "that are not loyal to the Dark Elders. Some actually choose to live away from the humans altogether, to vow to never associate with them. Others, though, are on our side and help our cause, as you know already, Alphonse."

"Right," Francis said, "and we're going to take you to see one of our ally Elders."

"Well, he's not really an ally. He's been neutral these past few millennia, sleeping in his tomb," Joan said.

Alphonse cringed. "You make it sound scary."

"You'll be scared when you go there," Francis said.

Joan slapped him on the arm. "Well, if we don't go to him, we only have Noticula left, and she's all the way in Austria."

"She's more trustworthy than him," the count said.

"We don't have the time!" Joan protested. "We need to see him, now! It's going to take days to get to Austria with the transportation arrangement and the actual getting there!"

"Sorry, but aren't I the one to—"

"Um, excuse me," Alphonse interrupted, holding up a finger. "Could you please tell me who this 'him' is? Because I honestly have no idea what you're talking about here and I'm beyond the point of lost, so . . ."

The Frenchwoman sighed. "Sorry, Alphonse. We got so caught up in our arguing, we totally forgot about you!"

"Thanks," the boy muttered.

"You'll find out when we get there," Francis said distractedly.

"I think he deserves to know," Joan said, giving her fiancé a pointed look. "Don't you think?"

"I still think we should go first and let him find out on his own," the count stated.

"Well, we're not going to do that," Joan decided for them both, turning back to Alphonse. "We're actually planning on heading over to the Catacombs under Paris. You know what that is, right, Alphonse? It's not far from here."

"I'm not sure . . ." the boy said. "Is it that place where they throw the dead bodies?"

Joan cringed, her pride as a Frenchwoman wounded. "I . . . suppose it could be put in that term, yes."

Alphonse grimaced, suddenly realizing the situation. "And you say an Elder lives under there."

"He's not really living," Francis said.

"He's alive," Joan confirmed. "He's just a bit stuck."

"So what's his name?"

Saint-Germain looked at Joan, and she stared back.

"Well," she said. "We're going to see the Roman god of war, Mars. Mars Ultor."

I did this in a hurry, but it was fun to write, so they'll be a couple of mistakes in there. Like always. I don't have a Beta Reader, never will. It's not like this story getting published or anything.

So yeah. There's this Roman goddess up there named Noticula, and I did not make her up. She's been mentioned in the books, and yes, she's really in Austria. (BTW, I think I should really return those library books or else I can't sign anything out.)

You know, with all the reading Ed does, he should be blind by now. I'd love to see him in reading glasses or something. Ultimate, but badass, book-nerd right there. Being more blind in the rain isn't all that false, either. I have a friend who has bad eyesight too, and he can't see anything in the rain.

I'll update whenever I can. School mostly gets in the way. Thanks for understanding!

-LUNAticX