I have this thing called a 15 page long report due…so I will be going on hiatus for a bit.

Ed was sitting on the bench next to Mustang's head. Occasionally, he would mumble something that Ed couldn't understand, and he dipped in and out of consciousness. The car came to a rough halt, which caused Mustang to groan with pain. Ed awkwardly patted his shoulder with his bound hands, not completely sure if the physical contact would calm the colonel.

In response, Mustang lolled his head back to look at Ed. "Are we in Resembool yet?" What? Ed looked out the window and noted it was snowing.

"We're not going to Resembool; you're going to a hospital."

"Why?" Ed couldn't help but notice there was an abnormal tone in Mustang's voice. "I hear Elric is a genius. I want to talk to him before anyone else gets the chance."

"Mustang, you're going to the hospital." Ed made sure to enunciate the syllables clearly.

"Are you mad at me? You don't call me that, normally." Ed huffed a loud breath of air with temporary defeat. Mustang still thought Ed was Hawkeye, and he didn't understand at all what type of position they were in.

Faint voices could be heard outside, and the back door's lock clicked. "…valuable. Make sure they are healthy before you sort them." The door swung open, revealing several Cretan and Drachman soldiers. Instinctively, Ed shrank down. No! I'm Edward Elric! I was the Fullmetal Alchemist. These people can't scare me. Ed straightened his back and he glared at the Drachman who was walking towards him.

The man looked like he could've been Major Armstrong's brother, size-wise. The Drachman stood in front of Ed and he held a large dagger in his hand. Ed's eyes widened and he could feel his heart thumping. He's going to kill me! I can't do anything about it; I'm weak. I never had the chance to meet my son, and I didn't say good-bye to Al and Winry. Mustang is delusional, so he won't even realize what's happening…Ignorance is bliss. The man grabbed Ed's hands and he raised the knife. Here it comes. I just hope he makes it quick, or better yet, he'll have a stroke before he stabs me. He kept his eyes on the knife as it came to his hands, then the rope keeping him bound was cut off. That was anti-climactic…

"Come with me." The Drachman even offered a hand, which Ed refused. He stood up on his own, but stopped walking halfway. Ed turned his head to look at Mustang, who seemed to have a look of betrayal on his face.

"What about him?" Ed questioned and he stood still until he was given an answer.

"We'll take care of him. Come on." The man spoke with authority in his voice, but his tone was not malicious. He followed the man without hesitation and he carefully observed their surroundings.

The snow was gently falling and sticking to the pavement of North City's roads. It was not bustling with people, but it really never had been busy before the annexation. A large fence surrounded the city, and several buildings had been turned into watch towers. Ed stopped in his tracks when they approached a concrete building that was definitely a prison. The word 'Obedience' was painted in black over 'North City Jail'.

"Keep up, please." Ed continued onward and he walked up the stairs. Why am I listening to him? Why is he treating me like an equal? They're supposed to think I'm a vile creature as useful as a cockroach. I know they're trying to play some sort of mind game with me…I don't like it. They ended up in a large room that resembled a doctor's office. It seemed the first level of the jail had been transformed into a makeshift hospital.

There were several large men in Drachman uniforms standing in various places throughout the room, but they didn't seem to be paying Ed much attention. They don't see me as a threat. Well, I wouldn't either…but still, I'm Edward Elric! Do they know that? They seem to know I'm not an alchemist, so maybe they do know who I am. Even so, most people still think I'm an alchemist. What the hell is going on around here? A docile looking man wearing a white cloak entered the room, and Ed assumed he was a doctor.

"Hello." Ed blankly stared at the doctor without acknowledging the greeting. "How are you?" How am I? Is this guy serious!? I've been living in a shithole for months with only enough food to survive. I never got to take a shower, I slept on the dirt, and they yelled at me everyday. Then, they beat me! So how do I feel!? I feel like I'm living in Hell. My house is gone. I left my family behind, and they probably think I'm dead. And of course, I shot Mustang; he's crazy now. How am I supposed to feel?

"I'm fine." Ed replied coolly. The doctor smiled warmly, which caused Ed to cringe.

"Good. Would you mind removing your clothes?" Yes! I do mind! What kind of sick- The doctor handed Ed teal hospital clothes. Oh. I guess that makes sense. Okay, so where do I change? Ed felt all eyes on him as everyone waited for him to do something. No worries, it's no different than my yearly physical I had to take while in the military. They just want to know I'm healthy, but I don't know why they care. Ed complied and he stripped down to his boxers with little reluctance. It was like the people weren't giving him a reason to rebel.

Ed let out a sigh of relief when the doctor made no indication for Ed to go any further, and he slipped on the hospital gown. It still felt demeaning to have several strangers staring at him while only wearing boxers and a front gown. "Thank you. Come over here." Ed rolled his eyes as he walked over to the scale the doctor was indicating to. "Is that a northern model?" The doctor pointed to Ed's left leg.

"Yes."

"How much does it weigh?" Ed shrugged his shoulders. That was something that never really concerned him.

"Alright, have a seat." One of the Drachmans pulled a chair over and Ed slumped into it. He already knew where this was heading; they were going to detach his leg so they could get an accurate measurement. At least taking off automail was somewhat less painful than attaching it. "Are you ready?" Ed nodded his head and he eyed the doctor suspiciously. He's giving me a warning. I hope they start insulting me soon, or something. All this normalcy is weird…

Ed felt the tingle of the nerves disconnecting from the metal, then there was no feeling. His rusted leg was placed on the scale and the doctor wrote a quick number down on a sheet of paper. "This automail is in poor shape." Of course it is, you idiot! How was I supposed to maintain it? "We'll make you a new one."

"No!" Ed shouted and he lurched forward. Someone caught him before he face planted and set him gently back on the chair. His automail was the only thing he had that reminded him of home, in a strange sort of way. "It's fine, really."

The man shrugged, and with the help of two others, he reattached the automail to Ed's port. Ed stepped on the scale and he waited for the doctor to move the balances so he could get an accurate height and weight. After a few quick adjustments, the doctor frowned.

"You only weigh 112 pounds." He then turned his head to face the Drachmans. "He needs to gain at least 20 pounds before we begin." Begin what? They're obviously doing something different here than the rest of the country when it comes to Amestrians. They don't need manual labor this far north, but there seems to be a lot of Amestrians in here. That, and they are going out of their way help me. A terrible thought was starting to nag at Ed's mind. Every time it popped into his head, he pushed it back out. No…That can't be what they're doing, can it? I'm not ignorant; I know there's more than just field and house slavery going on. Sick bastards. I guess it makes sense, considering we are this far north. Maybe I'm overreacting. Yeah, that's it. I'm taking this out of proportion.

Subconsciously, Ed put his hands behind his back and he pulled the edges of the gown together so his skin was not exposed. "Okay, Edward Elric, you can lay down on the bed." Ed shuddered when his name was spoken.

"How do you know my name?" He snapped, and two Drachmans placed their hands in front of Ed's torso so he didn't attempt to lash out.

"There were rumors you were traveling with Roy Mustang. You've just confirmed them." Sly, cocky old bastard. He'd better get that smirk off his face before I do it for him. Ed grumbled indignantly and he plopped down into the low hospital bed. The doctor carefully peeled away the makeshift bandages Mustang had wrapped around Ed. He rested on his belly and he nearly jumped when a stinging, cold cream was slathered across his scarred back. After the prickling sensation dimmed down, he felt relieved. Ed's back felt wonderful, and he closed his eyes in preparation to relax.

"Physically, he is in poor condition. Mentally, I'd say almost normal." Ed opened his eyes and he gave the doctor a harsh stare.

"I'm not stupid!" Ed stated with assurance.

"Subject is defensive."

"I'm right here; don't talk to me like I can't hear you!" Are they purposefully trying to irritate me? Well, it's working!

"We'll have to take care of his pride issue later."

"I don't have pride issues!" He shouted, which made his throat sore.

"I recommend he's sedated while he recovers." Two Drachmans steadily held Ed down while the doctor injected him with three needles. "He's sedated and vaccinated. Now, we still have the issue of…" Ed couldn't hear what came next.

Ed was already slipping into darkness, but he gladly accepted the sleep. Right now, he didn't care what was going on. He didn't care what was happening to him and Mustang. It didn't matter if they were going to inevitably be used by these people. The only thing that mattered was sleep.

Questions? Concerns? Derogatory comments?