A/N: Just so there's no confusion, in this chapter there is a character from the Darker than BLACK manga: Parcel. She can teleport herself with anything within a dark sphere she conjures up. So yeah.

Also… I don't own Darker than BLACK or Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Whoah!"

"Get a lantern, get a lantern!"

"I can't see anything!"

"Al!"

Al turned his head, searching blindly for Ed, whom he'd been able to see just moments before all the buildings on the street had lost power. While everyone on the street had been attempting to feel their way to a wall, he had gotten separated from Ed. "Ed, come here!"

"I'm trying!" he heard a grumpy voice say. "I can sorta see some moonlight reflecting off the armor…" Ed shuffled up to Al carefully.

"Let's keep heading towards Central HQ," whispered Ed, just loud enough to be heard over the babble over the pedestrians still commenting on the sudden power outage. "It'll be best to catch them by surprise, if possible."

"Ed, I thought we were going to see what was going on first?" Al asked in a warning tone.

"Yeah," said Ed carefully. "But I still don't think that it was a coincidence that they took Winry right after we disobeyed orders." He hastily changed his tactic as he heard the familiar and dreaded clanking sound of Al crossing his arms disapprovingly. "Well, it'll help with sneaking back in anyways, after we see if she's safe or not."

Al nodded. "That's better. We're almost there anyways. I'm sure we'll be able to find it, even in the dark…"

"I can barely even see you, and you're right there!"

"I can sort of see… here, take my hand."

Al led Ed down the street, narrowly avoiding the blind people meandering around the roads, who were trying to find the end of the street.

"Is that it?"

"I think so…"

"Who's there?" came a demanding voice in front of them.

"Uh… the Elric brothers," said Al confusedly as he looked around to see who had spoken. "We're here to meet Fuhrer President Bradley."

"Identification?"

"Will you even be able to see it?" grumbled Ed as he pulled out his pocket watch and flashed it in the general direction of the voice.

"Wait a second…" the guard mumbled as there was the rustle of fabric before a small flame from a cigarette lighter almost blinded them. "There."

He looked at the watch closely, the light from the flame dancing off the watch, making the Amestrian dragon inscribed on the watch seem to move. "Alright, you're good. Go ahead. But I'm not promising that the Fuhrer President isn't busy or asleep. It is pretty late after all."

"Thank you for your time," Alphonse called over his shoulder as he dashed off Ed, who was already running up to the stairs to Central Headquarters.

As they ran the stairs leading to Central Headquarters, Ed tripped over his feet and cursed as he landed awkwardly on his flesh hand. He was still off-balance from only having one arm. "Damn it. Why can't they at least have a light somewhere in Central HQ?" He paused in getting up as he considered his own question.

"Hey Al."

"Hm?"

"Don't you think it's strange no one's thought to get a lantern in that big building? I mean, it would make it harder to keep the Fuhrer secure or something, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Why do you—" Al's tinny voice cut off as he caught onto what Ed was thinking. "Oh," he sighed. "You think the Fuhrer has something to hide. Like Winry."

Ed nodded. "The power's been out for a while now. Someone should have lit up something. I wonder if he's the one who cut the lights in the first place?"

Ed's tone was forcibly calm, but he didn't fool Al at all. "Ed, don't worry. I'm sure Winry's fine."

"But don't you think it's a really strange coincidence?" asked Ed, dropping his act. "Winry is kidnapped and conveniently the power goes out. There's not even a candle lit in Central HQ! It would be easy for him to smuggle Winry who-knows-where."

"Ed, I still think—"

"Think about it Al!" said Ed, his voice rising in volume. "None of the signs point to the Fuhrer trying to help Winry! Why would he? He's never even seen her or known about her before today!"

"Ed, all we did was tell that MP that the mass murderer was Barry the Chopper. You're jumping to conclusions."

They were nearly at the halfway point in climbing the stairs now, but Ed stopped and looked down at Al. He was a couple of steps higher than Al, and the moonlight reflecting off his golden eyes clashed with the surrounding darkness.

"And what if the cop decided to report to his superiors after all? We have no idea how many of the higher-ups were involved in Lab Five. It would be easy to assume that that MP knew more than he actually did—"

"But how does any of this even relate to the Fuhrer?" asked Al in exasperation. He started walking up the steps past Ed. "He was the one who was trying to rid the government of corruption."

"So he said," replied Ed as he reluctantly followed after Al. "But remember? He killed off Greed and his chimeras without even interrogating them at all. I think you're underestimating how suspicious the Fuhrer is."

Al was silent for a moment except for the loud clanking his armor was making as he trudged up the stairs. It squeaked occasionally; he would have to remember to oil it later. "No, I remember," he finally said quietly. How could he forget? He still sometimes found flakes of dry blood—Martels' blood—in his joints when he was oiling his armor. "I guess I'm just really hoping that you're wrong. Because if it comes to a fight with the Fuhrer, we're dead."

"You don't know that," Ed protested.

"I do," asserted Al. "The Fuhrer took down Greed like it was nothing. And he killed Martel and the other chimeras… like they meant nothing, too."

Al watched his cold, metallic feet as they climbed one stair, then another. "Thud. Thud." Rhythmic. Just like a heartbeat that he hadn't felt in years. And the Fuhrer knew about his body. The Fuhrer had been among the first to realize by himself…

"I'm sorry, Al," Ed apologized quietly, but Al wasn't paying much attention to him. A feeling of dread was growing within him, and the beginnings of panic followed in its footsteps. "I know that was really traumatic, having Martel die inside you—"

"Ed," Al interrupted in the calmest voice he could manage. "Didn't the Fuhrer ask if your automail was related to my metal body?"

Al saw the moonlight reflecting off of Ed's eyes disappear momentarily as Ed blinked in surprise at the sudden subject change. "Yeah. He did. Why?"

"Would he be able to realize something like that normally unless he had known about the cost involved in bonding souls to suits of armor? He made that connection pretty quickly and he's not even an alchemist. Colonel Mustang and Doctor Marcoh didn't even seem to know it was possible to bond souls to armor."

Ed stared at him, his eyes growing impossibly round. Al could now see the entire moon reflected off of them. "So…You're saying that…he was involved somehow in Lab Five. He knew about bonding souls to armor." Ed stopped climbing and sat down, his hand on his chin. Al glanced up. They were close to the top, but hopefully not close enough that anyone could hear them.

"He told us not to investigate into Laboratory Five any further, for our own safety," murmured Ed to himself. "But that was so we didn't discover his involvement. …" Ed shook his head and put it into his lone hand, exhaling slowly.

"So if that cop told his boss anything, and his boss was corrupt…" Al whispered.

"Then he might have reported to King Bradley, who assumed we had blabbed about more than just Barry the Chopper, and took Winry to ensure that it didn't happen again," finished Ed.

They stood in silence for a moment, processing what they had just surmised.

"We don't know for sure if we're right. Not everything adds up. If Winry's a hostage, why didn't they make it more obvious? They didn't make any demands." Al shook his head slowly and murmured, "And even if we are right, we don't have a choice. He has the advantage. We have no idea where Winry is, and even if we did, we couldn't find her in this light. We'll just have to pretend like nothing's wrong and go meet him."

Ed took his hand away from his head and contemplated it silently. The fact that he only had one hand, his empty right sleeve dangling uselessly from his empty port only served to remind him of Winry's absence. If she was here, she would no doubt have finished the arm by now and would have dragged him away to get it attached. He suppressed a grimace at the thought. That automail geek… she annoyed him to no end sometimes with her obsession with automail. He had to admit, sometimes he wondered if the reason she was so willing to help him was because of his automail. It undeniably played a major role in her enthusiasm.

Ed sighed and tucked his flesh hand into his pocket. But they were friends, best friends, as they had been from childhood. She could get under his skin, but she also had supported him when he was at his lowest. No matter how pain-muddled his memories were of the automail surgery, he would never forget how she had helped him through it. When he had no arm, no leg, and no future, she had done everything in her power to get him moving again. And when he needed constant maintenance, she didn't just leave him. She still cared about him. And… Ed admitted to himself with a slight blush, I care about her. J-j-just as f-friends though, he amended hastily to his thoughts. He shook his head vigorously to clear his thoughts. He was at the enemy's doorstep! How had he gotten so off track just by looking at his empty sleeve?

"Uh… Brother? What are you doing…?" Al's slightly concerned voice intruded on his thoughts.

"N-nothing," Ed stammered as he stood up. He sobered almost immediately upon looking at Central Headquarters, where Winry was probably held. She was in danger. This was no time to be messing around.

Ed turned his head back to look at Al. Instead of passively reflecting the moonlight, Al could have sworn that Ed's eyes seemed to burn an internal flame bright enough to light up his eyes on its own. "Let's go, Al. And no matter what, we're getting Winry away from this alive."

Al nodded as they climbed the last few steps and faced the colossal building that was both the Fuhrer's house and Central Headquarters. "Yeah."

As Mustang raced up to the shack, clutching a stitch in his side, the first thought that came to his mind was that it was too quiet. Nothing was stirring in the surrounding forest—it was as if everything was holding its breath. There was no sound from the shack either: no snoring from the prisoners, and none of the Lieutenant's soft tread as she paced slowly around the room. No, the only sound was his feet sloshing through the muddy puddles as he approached the shack with ever-increasing worry, and Havoc's breathless call behind him.

"Colonel!" wheezed Havoc as he finally caught up to his commanding officer. He leaned back, put his hands on his hips, and tries to inhale as much of the swampy air as he could. It was comparable to trying to inhale through a moist towel. "Geez, have pity on a smoker, will ya?"

"It's your own fault you smoke so much," replied the Colonel automatically as he absentmindedly reached in his uniform pocket for his ignition gloves.

Havoc noticed the motion and closed his mouth to stop whatever retort he had been about to utter. "Something's wrong," he stated instead. "I don't like this feeling. Everything's too calm." He nervously got out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and lit the lighter.

The burst of light from the tiny flame was enough to reflect off a pair of eyes watching them nearby. Colonel Mustang started.

"Take cover!" he yelled at Havoc as he drew his gun and pointed it at the stranger. He and Havoc sloshed their way to hide behind some nearby trees, pointing the guns at the unknown person as they did so. "Show yourself!" he commanded the intruder.

"How am I supposed to do that?" complained a child's voice petulantly. Mustang's eyes widened in surprise, and Havoc let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his gun. "I can't see anything! And I'm sure you can't either!"

"Go get a light from the city," suggested a smoother, older voice. Havoc raised his gun again, but they could still only see one pair of eyes reflecting the moonlight.

"Wha…?" asked Mustang in confusion at the bizarre suggestion. "No, just—"

"Oh," said the child's voice sheepishly, as if ashamed that she hadn't thought of it earlier. "Good idea."

Suddenly, the light from the eyes disappeared as a small circle of the purest black began growing from where the child's hand must've been. He had never seen anything like this circle—it was darker than black. It seemed to swallow all the moonlight as it steadily grew larger and larger until suddenly—it was gone. And the pair of eyes along with it.

"What the—" Mustang exhaled. He shook his head to clear it and rubbed his eyes, but it was no trick. The child had simply disappeared.

He heard a small squelching sound as Havoc shifted uneasily in the muck beside him. "Sir… what the hell just—" he stopped short as the jet black circle reappeared and started to grow again. When it suddenly disappeared, the bright light of a lantern nearly blinded both of them.

"Got it!" said the child happily.

"Good job, Parcel," said the older voice.

Mustang squinted toward the voice, shielding his eyes. The older voice belonged to a tall man who seemed to be in his twenties with short, blond, wavy hair. He was wearing a white suit, which was somehow spotless despite his muddy surroundings, and sunglasses that shielded his eyes from the bright light.

Ah…thought Mustang a bit distractedly. So that's why we could only see one pair of eyes…

"November 11," said the child—Parcel, had the man called her?—standing beside the tall blond man. She was a small girl who looked to be about ten and who, strangely enough, was wearing a bear costume, ears and all. "These aren't Hei and Yin."

Mustang stiffened, but the tall blond man only smiled amicably at her. "No, they aren't. Seems we've missed them. They've probably left by now."

"Who are you?" demanded Mustang harshly. "What do you mean they've left? And where is my Lieutenant?"

"Oh dear," said the smiling blond man as he turned to face them. "Where are my manners? I'm November 11, and this is Parcel."

Such strange names.

"And you two, I presume, were the infamous military officers who smuggled those two fugitives out?"

Mustang didn't answer for a moment, and then asked him levelly, "Are you going to turn us in?"

"And where would that get me?" asked the man, still smiling. "I was only told to get that Contractor you were holding captive and that Doll that follows him everywhere. Fighting you would be completely irrational, and I pride myself in being a Contractor, after all."

A…Contractor? wondered Mustang as November 11 turned away from him to face Parcel.

"Well, let's head after him, then," said November 11 to the little girl.

"Wait!" growled Mustang through gritted teeth. "What. Happened. To my Lieutenant?"

November 11 turned his head slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye, and Mustang caught a glimpse of his icy-blue eyes before the sunglasses concealed them again. "If you mean the unconscious young lady in there," he pointed behind Mustang to the shack. "She's still alive. I think she is, anyways."

"Still alive..?" repeated Mustang quietly. But that made it sound like…

"Go, Colonel," Havoc told him. "I'll keep a watch on these two. Sounds like the Lieutenant will need to go to the hospital."

Mustang nodded shakily at him and stumbled towards the shack, tripping once or twice over tree roots with loud splashes. "Be careful, Second Lieutenant Havoc."

Havoc returned his attention to the man in the white suit and the girl in the bear costume.

"So," said November 11 pleasantly as he continued to smile towards Havoc. "Your name is Havoc, is it? I knew someone quite well who was also named Havok."

"Yeah?" asked Havoc uncomfortably. It was a bit unnerving engaging in small talk with someone he was holding at gunpoint.

"Oh yes," replied the blond man, in no way discomfited by holding this conversation in the middle of a swampy forest with someone who was ready to kill him at any moment. "She was a mass-murderer during the Ishbalan genocide. Quite the brutal one, too. She drank the blood of children to pay her Contract."

There was a beat of silence as Havoc gaped at November 11.

"That was a joke," the man added on belatedly.

"Uh…" replied Havoc, nonplussed. Did this man ever stop smiling? That pleasant grin of his seemed plastered to his face.

November 11 reached into a pocket in his white suit suddenly, and Havoc tensed and better positioned his gun, ready to fire. "Stop right there!"

"Oh, drat," said the man, finally frowning. He was holding a soggy package of cigarettes. "It must've been the rain… You don't happen to be a smoker, do you?" he asked Havoc.

"Yeah, but—"

"I would really appreciate a pack."

"No way!" protested Havoc. "I only have one—"

"Please," November 11 requested. His voice had suddenly taken on a cold edge, and a shiver ran down Havoc's spine.

With a gulp, Havoc tossed over the pack. Only to keep the Colonel from whining about me smoking, he told himself. But he knew it was a lie. Something about this November 11… wasn't quite right. And he had a feeling he didn't want to get on his bad side.

"Thank you very much," said November 11, back to his pleasant voice. He pulled out a lighter, and inhaled deeply once the cigarette was lit. He started hacking almost immediately.

"Filthy, nasty things," November 11 muttered, looking at the cigarette with great dislike.

"Then why'd you ask for them?" cried Havoc in dismay. My last pack!

The blond man coughed again, and told him, "I absolutely detest smoking. But I have no choice. It's my payment."

"What's this payment you keep on talking about?" asked Havoc cautiously, careful not to be too demanding. He didn't want to provoke an unnecessary confrontation.

"We're alchemists," piped up the little girl in the bear suit. "And you have to pay something to ever receive anything in alchemy."

"Unfortunately," agreed November 11 neutrally. The light from Parcel's lamp diffracted off of the cigarette smoke around his head, seeming to give him an amorphous halo.

"Hold on," Havoc butted in. "I may be a country hick, but I'm not stupid. Alchemists don't have to make payments to do alchemy!"

"We have… special circumstances," stated November 11. Coldness was again seeping into his voice, and Havoc decided it would be best to change the topic.

"But you can't be an alchemist, right little girl?" he asked Parcel.

"Hey!" protested Parcel. "I'm almost thirteen!"

"You're wearing a bear costume, kid. What did you expect me to think?"

"It's not my fault! It's my payment! I know it looks ridiculous!"

Again with the payments?

"Parcel, I think we really should be heading out," November 11 said to the girl.

"What? No," said Havoc grimly, aiming his rifle squarely at the man's head. That was one thing he would not allow. "I don't think so. You're not going anywhere."

"I'm terribly sorry, but I really must be going," said November 11 apologetically as if he were trying to get away from an over-enthusiastic host at a party. "And since we seem to disagree so strongly on this, I'm afraid I have no choice."

Havoc squinted at him through his rifle's sight. "What are you talking about?"

"Your legs, my dear friend. I'm afraid they'll be quite—useless—from now on."

"What—?" Havoc's exclamation ended as a gasp of pain. His legs…! They were on fire! Or they felt like it, but when he looked down, he could see that they were now solid blocks of ice. And now…He couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel his legs! He let out a strangled yell and fell over. One of his legs, made brittle from the extreme cold, made a snapping sound. He couldn't feel his legs! His brain whirred frantically, spewing out possibilities. Had the nerves died already? Was it shock? He couldn't bring himself to look to see if the legs were still attached or not.

Still smiling, November 11 walked over to Havoc on a layer of ice. "I'm sorry. I'm sure I would have liked you, even with your nasty smoking habit, if we had met in different circumstances. But I can't disobey direct orders. I need to find those two."

Havoc, through the haze of his shock and his quick, panicked gasps, registered one word dully. Orders. That was odd… Why was it odd? He couldn't tell. Everything was fogging up. Like the smoke from the fresh cigarette November 11 had just lit. Like the smoke from the battlefield or the remnants of the Colonel's flames.

The Colonel. Well, Colonel, he thought as he braved a glance at the blackened remains of his legs. Even through the fog clouding his vision, he could tell they were ruined beyond repair. Bile rose in his throat, but he didn't have the strength to vomit, and it dribbled out of the side of his mouth. I guess I won't be able to keep any girls after this.

The fog was getting thicker, and he could barely make out the pair of strange alchemists disappearing along with the light.

It was a strange contrast, he mused. His vision was getting whiter, but there wasn't any light anymore—the lantern was gone. There was something wrong with that….right? His head whirled, trying to make sense of the situation. But nothing made sense. He shouldn't be lying here in a puddle of icy water. He should be chasing after that man. So why wasn't he? Oh… that was right. His legs were gone. And he needed legs to run.

"Havoc!" he heard the Colonel yell someplace closeby. But it sounded quiet. How strange.

Odd. Just like when the blond man had said that he was following orders. That was strange, too.

Havoc forced his eyes open. That was important. His reeling brain couldn't think of why, but he knew it was. He had to tell the Colonel. But his tongue flopped uncooperatively in his mouth.

"Hang on, Havoc!"

What a strange, echoing sound Mustang's voice made. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Focus. Orders. Whose orders? The thought swam around in his mind and drifted away. They weren't his…

"Havoc, I order you to stay alive!" cried the Colonel's muted voice in desperation.

Orders. Oh yeah. He remembered. "Kuh-nal," he said thickly. He took a short wheezy breath. "He wuz… fallowin' ah-dahs." He hoped the Colonel could understand him because he was slipping further away, the fog growing impenetrable.

"Havoc… Havoc!"