Pojo-san: *playing at her computer*

Greg-kun: Pojo-san, what are you doing?

Pojo-san: *tenses* Working on the next chapter.

Greg-kun: Oh really? Does writing the next chapter involve you healing a paladin tank, or trying to kill a certain number of raptors.

Pojo-san: I'm, uh, taking a break. You know you can't write all of the time. It fries the brain. Got to relax somehow. *continues playing on her computer*

Greg-kun: Pojo-san, we need to have a talk. I believe that World of Warcraft is starting to effect your daily life. You are forgetting your duties as a writer.

Pojo-san: Oooh! Those shoes will give me +9 intellect, +6 spirit, and increase my spell power by 4. It will help me a lot with my healing. I'm going to have to need that. *clicks Need*

Greg-kun: That's it! *drags Pojo-san away from her computer and down the hall* You have been promising to update Deus Ex Machina for a year and 5 months! You are going to update that story whether you want to or not!

Pojo-san: No! My priest! I'm almost to level 54!

Greg-kun: Your priest will be there when you get back.

Pojo-san: But- but- but my priest!

Greg-kun: Quit your eternally bitching and start writing!

Pojo-san: You're so mean! T.T

Yes, it's me again. And no, this is not another author's note. This is the real chapter 11 of Deus Ex Machina. No, I have not been playing World of Warcraft so much that I forget to write. I put that up there as a joke. There are other reasons why I have not been writing or updating. The biggest reason is that I have some serious writer's block when it comes to this story. Writer's block is your subconscious telling you that something is wrong with your story, so I need to comb through this story again. I have a pretty good idea of what is wrong with DEM. I'm going to have to rewrite chapters 1, 2, 3, and possibly 5. Seriously, they need a major overhaul. I also have been writing other stories such as Addiction and the Real Monster. I have not posted up The Real Monster yet, but Addiction is up. I'll write more on that in the author's note at the end of this chapter. I have started college, I am working again, I take one of my friends to college because she does not have a car herself, and I have been beta reading stories. So as you can imagine, my schedule is pretty full. I hardly have time for myself anymore. Sigh... Anyway, if you need a beta reader just drop me a line, and I can beta read for you.

Here is some big news. I am going to enable anonymous reviews. So for those of you who do not have an account with FFnet, you can now review my stories. I thought long and hard on it and I though why the hell not. HOWEVER, if you send me nothing but flames I will report them and delete them from the review board. Sending flames is pathetic and it only proves that you have self-esteem issues. I will not tolerate this. Do not abuse this opportunity to anonymously submit your review. I will only accept those that have constructive criticism.

Now that is over lets get the disclaimer and warnings out of the way.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Fullmetal Alchemist. This is story is a parody of the show.

Warnings: This chapter adult language and some violence

Rating: M for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Please enjoy the next installment of Deus Ex Machina!


Chapter 11

The Funhouse

"Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves- regret for the past and fear for the future."—Fulton Oursler


A few days had passed since Ed's second attempt to take his life. The nurses told him that he should be released soon after a few more hours of observation. Mustang sat in the hospital chair that was next to his bed. He was reading over some paperwork and signing them here and there. Hawkeye brought them to the hospital for him during her lunch break yesterday. Edward was reading a novel about a man seeking forgiveness for a horrendous crime, an idea that Edward was all too familiar with, when a sharp knock at the door caught his attention. The door opened a crack, and Havoc's head popped into the room.

"Hey, Edward," said Havoc as he pushed open the door. He walked in with Furery and Breda following him. "How have you been?" He slapped Ed on the back. Edward reached up to his throat and rubbed it in an attempt to signal the man that he could not speak. His message fell on deaf ears.

"Why are you rubbing your neck? Are you in pain?" asked Havoc. Ed shook his head.

"Fullmetal cannot talk," said Mustang as his hand gave a small flourish when he signed a document. He capped his pen and placed his work in the briefcase at his feet.

"Why? Did he lose his voice in the attack?" Edward shot Mustang a confused a look. He did not remember being attacked at all.

"Yes he did," said Mustang. "His vocal cords are paralyzed. The doctors believe that it is temporary, but they do not know when he will gain full function again." Mustang folded his arms across his chest. His eyes slid over to Edward who had a surprised look on his face. Realization dawned on him. Mustang was covering for him. He spread a rumor that explained both of Edward's wounds and condition. He felt a bizarre feeling bubble up in his chest. It took him a while to identify it as gratitude. He never thought he would be grateful toward Mustang. Mustang's gaze quickly darted away as he meet the eyes of his other subordinates. "Now, would you mind explaining why you are not at the office?"

"Hawkeye said that Ed was going to get out of the hospital today," said Breda. "She said we could see him." Mustang nodded at that.

"So Ed," said Havoc as he situated himself against a wall. "I heard they got you good." His eyes traveled down to the bandages that were wrapped around Edward's arms. Edward merely nodded. "I never thought that someone could sneak up on you. First time for everything, I guess." Havoc filled him in on things that had happened in the office while he was in the hospital. Breda was telling him a story about a prank he pulled on Falman. Edward was smiling gently throughout the story. About two hours passed when Mustang ushered them out of the room. They said their goodbyes.

"You shouldn't do that," said Mustang as the boor clicked shut. Ed gave him a puzzled look. "You shouldn't fake your smiles like that. You maybe have them fooled, but you don't have the wool pulled over my eyes. I know how forced your smiles are." Roy then gave him an odd look. It was piercing, but not in an angry or aggressive manner. It was more like he was trying to look past the carefully crafted mask that Ed had built over the years through much effort and hard work. The kind that can be easily slipped on at a moment's notice, the kind that everyone wanted to see. Everyone on the team tried to make him smile and laugh, so he gave them what he wanted. A fake smile here and a fake laugh there. No one noticed the difference. There were times when a few people saw how artificial his smile was, but they did not say anything about it. They just thought that he was trying to be strong for Al. It had taken him years to perfect the fake happiness that he put on display daily, and now it was collapsing right in front of him. There was no doubt in his mind that Mustang saw right through him, right through his mask, and straight into his very being. He did not like that. Ed did not like that one bit, but it was to be expected. Mustang wore a beautifully crafted mask himself. Mustang could easily spot the fakers and the frauds from the crowd, and weed out their true intentions.

Edward broke his eye contact with Mustang's acute gaze.

"Would you like to eat something before you get released later?" asked Roy and Ed nodded at him. "Tell me what you want, and I'll call it in for you." Ed pulled out the menu, and quickly looked it over. He pointed at something that he wanted to eat, but Mustang shook his head. "You need to tell me what you want. Don't point, just talk to me." Ed let out sigh; it was the only thing that he could do, since it did not involve the use of his vocal cords. Mustang had been trying to do this ever since Ed had sealed up his words. He would not ask Ed simple yes or no questions, but ones that needed to be answered with complete sentences. Every time that happened, he would try to say something, but the words would get lost on their way out, like before. He had given up a long time ago, and he only did it to humor Mustang.

Edward opened his mouth, and nothing came out. He shook his head and pointed again at the item that he wanted. Roy did not say anything as he dialed the number for the kitchen, and placed the order.

"Edward, you need to help me help you," said Mustang as he situated himself on the edge of the bed. "Do you even want to talk again?" Ed watched with him with a passive expression before he shrugged his shoulders. He really did not care if he spoke again. It did not make a difference to him. "If you are going to get better, you have to want it. Do you even want to get better?" Ed thought that over for a second. Did he really want to get better? No, he did not want to. What was the point in doing that if it really did not matter? He would most likely end up back right where he started. It would be a waste of time and effort. Edward did not want to give the Colonel a response of any kind. He just scooted himself down his bed a little before lying down on it and rolling over onto his side. He did not move from his spot until his food was brought to his room.

Mustang ran his fingers through his hair, and he wanted to pull it out. He reminded himself that he needed to take this one step at a time. Even though he wanted the old brash and rude Edward back, he could not rush it. Nothing good ever came out of rushing things. Roy would take the cursing, hot-headed disrespectful Edward over this quiet, sorrowful suicidal Edward. He was thankful that he had managed to make Ed realize how much he needed him, but at what cost? Was it really worth it when he had broken the young man's spirit?

The food arrived then, and it was placed on the rolling bed table. The nurse left without a word to tend to his other patients. Ed sat up, pulled the rolling table closer to him, and started to eat. He only took small bites of the food that was given to him like before. Mustang suddenly got an idea on how to get Edward talking again. It would probably be painful on his part, but it was worth a shot.

"You're so small that a dog would mistake you for a chew toy," said Mustang. Ed's knife stopped in mid-slice. "You're so small that I could attach you to my keychain and carry you around in my pocket." Ed was visibly shaking with rage. "You're so small that you could use a kitchen sink as an Olympic size swimming pool." Something went whizzing past Roy's head, and made a loud thunk behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see the metal knife, that Ed was using, vibrating slightly after being driven an inch into the wall behind him. That was not exactly the reaction that he was looking for, so he decided to try a different stratagem to get Ed motivated. He turned his head back around to face Ed, who was glaring at him as if he was daring Roy to say anything else. Roy smirked and said, "Your hair makes me wonder sometimes if you are actually a girl in disguise." Edward flung the fork at him, and he barely got out of the way in enough time before it took out one of his eyes. The fork flew across the room, and buried itself into the wall, only a few centimeters to the left of the knife, halfway up its handle. Ed was visibly fuming, and his face was a deep red. The heart monitor was going crazy as his vital signs skyrocketed. He gripped the rolling table with a dangerous smirk on his face that said, "I dare you." Valuing his life and the walls of the room, Mustang decided not to push Edward any further.

That didn't work, thought Roy. This must be pretty deep if he's not screaming at me.

"Finish eating your lunch," said Roy out loud. "And don't ruin the hospital. There are other people that need this place too, you know." Edward glared at him for a second before returning to his meal, deciding to pick at his food with his fingers. He continued to nibble away at his food until he was sure that Mustang was satisfied with what he had eaten, and he did not eat a crumb more. Mustang pulled on his coat. Edward watched him warily, and he answered Ed's unspoken question. "I'm going to go back to the house and get you some clothes to change into." Ed was on him in a flash. The teen jumped out of his bed, ran over to him, and attached himself to Roy. Roy stumbled back a little as Ed slammed his weight into him. He sighed. Edward had been doing this quite a bit ever since his first day in the hospital. He refused to let Roy leave his side. The only time that he was allowed to leave is at night when Edward was fast asleep, and the nurses permitted him to stay that late past visiting hours. The next morning, he would come into the room just to be greeted by a worried Edward. Roy really could not blame the boy for his behavior because he was the one who had made Ed fear that he would abandon him at the drop of a hat.

Roy rubbed his eyes and said, "I'll call Hawkeye, and have her bring some clothes up for you." He maneuvered Ed back to his bed, and made him sit back down on it before he picked up the phone to call the office. Riza picked up, and he relayed his instructions to her.

"I'll be there in twenty," she said before she hung up. Roy sat down on the bed next to the quiet teen as he waited for his lieutenant to come to the hospital. She had been visiting Edward as well, but she could only stay for a few minutes before having to return to HQ. She had been covering Mustang for the past few days, and he was urgently needed back there soon because she could only cover for him for so long. She told him that the higher ups were starting to wonder where he was.

Edward was tracing patterns onto the bed sheet with his finger as he waited. He did that to keep himself busy, but it was only working on his hands. His mind drifted off into space as he thought about the last few days that he had spent in the hospital. He would not allow Mustang to leave him, which he had been trying to figure out. He then theorized that he was afraid that Mustang would make good on his promise to leave and never bother him again. Of course, it was just a theory, but he did not feel like putting it to the test to see if he was correct. The only time that he would let the man leave was at night. Edward did prefer Mustang to sleep in his own bed instead of sleeping at the hospital where he would be uncomfortable. However, that did not stop Ed from being anxious the following morning for the Colonel's return. It was the fear that caused that. He knew better than to think that, but he could not help it. Mustang was all that he had left now.

Ed's eyes stayed on his finger as it aimlessly traveled over the rough fabric of the bed sheets. He heard a knock at the door. Hawkeye had arrived within twenty minutes, as she promised, with a brown paper bag in her hands.

"Colonel," said Hawkeye as she crossed the room. "You should really put the spare key to your home in a better hiding spot instead of putting it at the top of your door frame."

"Duly noted," said the Colonel. "Is that the clothes?" Mustang pointed at the bag, and she nodded.

"Are you getting out today, Edward?" asked Riza, and Ed nodded at her. "You must be happy then because you don't have to eat hospital food anymore. When are you supposed to be released?"

"The nurses said around two," answered Roy. "If the doctor deems Fullmetal healthy enough to leave that is." Ed nodded in agreement.

"That's good." Hawkeye pulled the chair closer to the bed and neatly sat in it. "I can't stay for too long. How have the both of you been doing?" They exchanged pleasantries, but it was more like Hawkeye and Mustang did. Ed, on the other hand, just sat on the bed, feeling like the third wheel. After thirty minutes worth of small talk, Riza stood and said, "I need to go. When are you going to come back to work?"

Mustang stole a quick glance at Edward before he said, "I'll be in tomorrow."

"Very well, I'll see both of you tomorrow." With that Hawkeye turned and left.

After that, time slowly progressed through the day until the designated time for Ed to leave the hospital arrived. A nurse came into the room for one last check up.

"Standard procedure," she said as she checked his vitals. "I need to check your stitches." She rolled up his sleeve and looked over the wound. It still looked nasty, but it was better than the first day when he was brought to the emergency room. She twisted his arm this way and that to get a full look at it before she lightly touched it with a latex-gloved finger. "Does that hurt?" He shook his head. "Good. Are you still unable to speak?" He nodded, and she wrote something down in his chart. "I'll talk to Dr. Weismann and see if he can get you out of here today." She left the room. They both waited for another hour before Dr. Weismann greeted them. The doctor asked Ed some simple yes or no questions concerning his current health before he pulled Mustang out of the room to allow Edward to change.

"Colonel Mustang," said Weismann as soon as the door closed. "You are the legal guardian of Edward Elric, correct?"

"Correct," responded Roy.

"I'll need you to sign some release forms at the nurses' station," said Weismann as he reread what he wrote down on the chart. "Also, I highly recommend that you send Mr. Elric to a psychiatrist."

"For the muteness, right?" asked Roy

"That and for the self-destructive behavior." Mustang's heart thudded loudly in his chest, but he kept a straight face as the doctor stared at him. Weismann sighed and said, "I've worked at this hospital for almost fifteen years, and I've had a lot of people run through the ER with all kinds of injuries from A to Z. I can tell which wounds are self-inflicted. I've seen them before many times, and also because you were spotty on how he got such a deep cut in his arm. Those kinds of injuries happen in only three ways: accidents, assaults, or self-infliction. Now, I've gone through his medical records, and he has quite a colorful history here. He has been in and out of this hospital numerous amounts of time in the past year alone, but those scars were never explained in the records. They were recent and uniform. I knew then that the injury that brought Edward to the hospital was self-inflicted."

Roy stood stiffly, and he slowly asked, "Did you tell anyone?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," said Weismann. "I'm bound by law and by my oath as a doctor to not to tell anyone." Mustang let out sigh of relief. "I know a good psychiatrist that is not too far from here. His name is Dr. Douglas. I'll give you his number and the address to his office." Roy blinked in surprise at the name.

"No, that won't be necessary. I know where he is." He would have never thought that he would be going back to Dr. Douglas again after all of this time.

"Excellent, I strongly urge you to make an appointment with him as soon as you can. If Edward begins to have any physical problems, then bring him back straight away. You'll need to make an appointment for a few days later to have his stitches removed, and then the body will take over from there and heal itself completely. However, he will have a large scar there for the rest of his life. He could go to occupational therapy for scar massage therapy. A therapist will massage the scar, and it breaks down the scar tissue, thus reducing its appearance. That is only if he wants to of course. Do you have any questions?"

"Is there anything that I need to look out for, specifically?"

"Keep an eye out for infection in and around Edward's injury. The tell-tale signs that the wound is infected would be inflammation, pain, pus, and if the area feels warm or hot. If you think that he has an infection don't hesitate to bring him back. Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Okay, the nurses at the station will help you. Remember to make that appointment with Dr. Douglas."

Edward stood stiffly on the other side of the door. His heart was hammering hard against his chest. Did he hear right? Was Mustang going to send him to a shrink? If he did go to a shrink, they would probably lock him up in some padded room, force him to wear a straight jacket, and have only doctors visit him. He would not survive a place like that. He would most likely go insane there. He would have to do his best to convince Mustang that he is mentally healthy enough to live in the outside world.

Ed tuned out of the conversation on the other side of the door when Mustang and Dr. Weismann started to talk about appointments and other concerns that the Colonel needed to look out for. He snatched his red coat from the chair and slipped it on. He stood inside the room for a few more seconds to compose himself before he opened the door and stepped out. Dr. Weismann was gone, and Mustang was leaning against the far wall across from his room.

"Are you ready to go?" asked Mustang, and Ed nodded. Roy signed Ed out and made the appointment for Ed to have his stitches removed. The car ride home was silent. When they got home, Mustang made dinner for himself, and Edward sat in the living room. He picked up the newspaper that had been thrown on the coffee table, and began perusing some of the articles. When Roy finished making his cold cut sandwich, he grabbed his mail and checkbook, and sat down on the couch opposite of Ed's. He took a bite out of his sandwich as he sifted through his mail; throwing his junk mail into one pile and placing his bills in another.

Ed looked up from the newspaper, and watched Mustang open up a bill, read its contents, write down the amount of money he owed for that bill, and move on to the next one. Ed found this fascinating. Though every person in the city, he himself included, did this simple act of paying monthly bills, but he never really could picture Mustang doing this. He had never seen the Colonel look so domestic before. It was foreign to him. Roy looked up at him, and the moment that their eyes met, Ed quickly found another article to read.

"I still need to pay the electric company to keep the power on, just like everyone else," said Mustang simply as he threw another advertisement into the junk pile. Once he was finished, Mustang got up to put his dishes in the sink, and started to head up the stairs. "I'm going to bed. Wake me up if you need anything." He changed into his sleepwear, completely drained. He had never realized how emotionally draining it is to deal with attempted suicides. All he wanted to do

was sleep for the rest of the week. He was exhausted. Just a few minutes after his head hit his pillow, he was fast asleep.

Ed was still sitting on the couch. His mind wandered back to his previous riddle of figuring out why he needed Mustang at his side twenty-four seven. Ed moved from the couch. He went up to his room and pulled out his journal.

Maybe writing about it will help me figure it out, he thought to himself as he uncapped his pen and started writing. He wrote about what happened to him last week, about the party, the morning after, and his time in the hospital. He wrote down all of his thoughts and fears, and when he was done he was nowhere closer to the truth than when he started writing. He was about to close his journal when he remembered one more detail.

His pen scratched against the paper as he wrote:

Sometimes I get this look from the Colonel when I was still in the hospital. I don't know what it is. It's like he's trying to stare right through me, or within me. Edward's hand stopped for a few moments before it continued with, I don't want him to do that. I don't want him to look inside of me. I'm ugly on the inside.

He flipped the pages of his journal to a previous entry. His blood had turned a rusty brown color, but it still held his message from when he first tried to kill himself. His fingers gently stroked the letters, afraid that the blood would chip or peel off. Ed stared at it, his hand caressing it carefully, as he thought back to that day and all of the events that led up to this moment. He was still here. He tried twice to die, and twice he had failed. The first time it was Mustang who pulled him out from death's embrace, and the second time it was his mother and teacher that pushed him back into this world.

Ed angrily snapped the book shut, and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes as he tried to control the torrent of emotions that was inside of him. Slowly he relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

Edward opened his eyes. The first things that met his eyes were tree branches. They were fanned out, and shaded the area like a large living umbrella. The leaves had turned the sunlight into a beautiful emerald green. He could hear the sounds of people. Their voices were a low murmur, and were the bass and rhythm for the melody of birds that had started to sing and chirp. He then heard a loud shout of joy and fun that was soon joined by the sounds of others. It was hot outside, but it was nice and cool underneath the shade of the tree, very nice. He wanted to close his eyes again, and fall back asleep on the soft grass that had become his bed. Instead, he raised his hand, rubbed his eyes, and slowly sat up. He saw people running around on the large lawn in front of him, while some stayed by themselves, and others were talking to people. One thing that he had noticed was the fact that a vast majority of these people were all wearing the same thing, white loose shirt and pants with some kind of white slippers. The minority were wearing regular clothes that would be found in any department store. He looked down at himself. He was wearing the white clothes as well, and he lightly pulled at his white shirt.

Where was he?

He looked around some more from his spot underneath the tree. To his right he saw a large multistory building with a stone face and barred windows. His hand glided across the grass until it hit something. He looked down. Next to him were some pieces of paper with transmutation circles drawn on them, a closed sketch pad, and a pencil. His finger lightly traced the outside rim of one of the circles in bewilderment. His hand gradually sashayed over the sketch pad, and he slowly picked it up as if it was going to disappear if he moved any faster. He flipped it over in his hands. He did not remember owning a sketch pad. He flipped through its pages.

Each page had a transmutation circle on it. Each one grew more complex than the last, and even more sinister. It first started with the most simple and most basic circle for making origami animals. It then moved onto to circles for shifting and reshaping stone. The next group involved the elements like carbon and nitrogen. That was followed by circles that involved plant life. Then he saw circles for making chimeras, and he stopped. He knew what the next circle was going to be, and with a trembling hand he flipped the page. Staring at him right in the face was the human transmutation circle that he had used on his mother. It was all there; perfectly recreated as if he had drawn it a thousand times. However, it was only the second to last page. There was one more page left in the sketch book, and if he assumed correctly, it was the circle that he feared the most. He did not want to look at it, but he wanted to know. He turned the page and his heart stopped. The circle was complex and truly ominous. It did not have to take an alchemist to realize that the hexagram, the pentagrams, and the symbols bode nothing but misfortune and sin. It was like watching the story of his life was being played out right in front of him in this sketch pad. He heard the grass crunch behind him.

"Edward?" said a voice behind him gently. He jumped and spun around on the spot. He saw a man dressed in a button up shirt, dress pants, and a tie. The man held up his hands. "It's okay. No reason to be alarmed." His body did not relax at the man's words. He wanted to ask who he was, but nothing came out of his mouth. "You have a visitor." The man stepped aside, and Mustang stepped forward.

"Hello, Fullmetal," said Mustang with a small smile.

"Colonel," said the man. "Just be careful around him. If you need anything, call me." The man left, and he was alone with Mustang.

"How have you been?" asked Mustang as he knelt down in front of him. Ed blinked in confusion. "I see you still can't talk." Mustang smiled at him as he seated himself on the grass next to Edward. It was quiet for a few moments as Ed stared at Mustang.

Why would the Colonel need to see him as a visitor?

"I don't remember this tree from the last time I was here," commented Mustang and he pointed upward. "Did you make it?" Ed started at the man, completely confused, until he remembered the pieces of papers next to him. He rifled through them until he found the circle that he was looking for. It was used for creating and growing trees. He must have created the tree before he fell asleep because it was too hot.

"I recognized your handiwork," said Mustang conversationally, and then his voice turned serious. "I heard from the doctor that you are improving. It's a small improvement, but it's an improvement, none the less. No outbursts in two weeks. That's good." Ed froze at the word doctor. His head whipped around. The barred windows, the way that everyone dressed; it all made sense. "Ed, are you okay?" He quickly picked up his pencil and scribbled a message on it, and showed it to Mustang.

"You want to know where you are?" asked the Colonel in perplexed tone, and Ed nodded vigorously. Mustang gave him a strange look as he replied, "The same place that you have been for the past five years, Everwood Psychiatric Asylum. Don't you remember? I had to call in a military search when I told you that I was going to bring you here. It took four days, five squads, ten injured, and three dead to find you and bring you in. You've been prone to violent outbursts ever since you got here. You almost killed a nurse when you tried to break out a few months ago."

His world shattered. The paper and pencil that he was holding in his hands slipped and fell to the ground. He was really here in an insane asylum. He staggered to his feet, and Mustang rose with him, watching him cautiously. He stared at the ground for a few seconds before he bolted. He went as fast as his legs could go. Mustang called out for security, but he did not turn back. He kept on running to the front gate, towards freedom. The gate slammed shut, and he ran up to the barrier, pulling at the metal frame in a vain attempt to pull it open. He felt someone grab him from behind and throw him back. He landed hard against a wall.

The sun was gone. The grass, the people, the smell of fresh air, the heat, the light… It was all gone. Now he was in a padded cell. It was cold and dark. The air was musty, dirty, and suffocating. The walls were all white. He tried to put his hands together to make his alchemy, but his arms would not budge. They were strapped down across his chest in a white straitjacket. He tried to struggle free, but he could not. He looked up and saw Mustang standing at the door of his prison cell with a sad look on his face. He took a step towards him, but the dark eyed man just shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Edward," said Mustang gravely. "It's a shame really. You were making so much progress." The door started to slowly swing shut as Ed ran for it, but it closed in his face. A loud defining click echoed around the room as a bolt locked the door. There was dark laughter behind him. He spun around to see it sitting on the cot that was his bed.

"This is where you belong, my love," it said to him. "Did you honestly think that you can live in the outside world? You deserve to be locked up." His guilt smiled at him. "The world needs to be protected from you. You're monster, a freak, an abomination. There are no second chances for you, you sinner. You are going to rot here as everyone out there," His guilt pointed a finger at the door, "Forgets that you even exist. You are trapped here, and there is no way out. You will never see the light of day ever again. This room will be your grave."Ed slid down the wall and situated himself into a corner. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and buried his face into his knees. It was right. He was trapped here. He was sealed off from the rest of the world. This place would surely break him, and he would die here all alone. There was no escape. He was never going to be free.

Ed cried in his corner as his regret laugh mercilessly.


Pojo-san: There! I'm done. Can I go now?

Greg-kun: No, you need to write chapter 12 now.

Pojo-san: *screams*

There you go. Hoped you had fun reading this. As I was saying above, I have new multi-chapter story up called Addiction. It is a mystery/crime story, so please go check it out and leave a review. I will be posting up The Real Monster a later date, but if you want to know what it is about than check out the Story Updates section on my profile. You can also check out any other stories that I plan on writing and any updates I have on your favorite story in that section.

I should let you know that this story will go on a temporary hiatus. Do not worry! This story will continue, and I will finish this story! I'm just putting it on hiatus so that I can fixed those chapters I have mentioned above, and so that I can get a head start on writing this story. Hopefully, this will not take me another year and 5 months to do. Yes, I have been counting. If you need a beta reader, send me a PM. I put beta reading above writing my own stories, so you will get your stories back quickly. Be sure to check out my other stories, and check out my original work at fictionpress. The link is in my profile at the top.

Have a nice day!