Seeking the Incomplete
By Marz
With the Enemy, Alone
Shezka knew she should have objected. Summer had offered her an extra security deposit and double rent to let her friend Dorchet stay, though, and that would keep her mother in her ward for another six months at least. Still Shezka was regretting it. She'd heard the outside basement door open. She heard heavy thumps on the steps and she knew they weren't Summer's foot steps. She heard men talking, and then a strange growling from something very big. She knew it wasn't a cat. Why had she told Summer she could keep an animal?
Shezka fretted at the top of the stairs. She should just call the police. She really should. But Summer was really nice and she didn't want to get her in trouble. But what if Summer was in trouble? She hadn't heard Summer's voice at all.
I'll just take a look, she thought. I won't even go all the way down.
Nodding to herself and carrying only one small book pressed to her side, Shezka opened the latch and crept down the stairs. They didn't creak under her feet. The lights were on. That was a good sign. Sometime Summer would wander around without the lights on and scare her half to death. She bent down so she could see into the room without going any further down the steps.
She saw Dorchet standing on the far side of the room, and another man with dark skin and light hair. They were talking quietly and pointing at something on the table that their bodies blocked from view. There was something dark smeared all over their clothes. Motion caught the corner of her eye and for a moment she thought the cat, but as she focused fully on it she saw it was no such thing. It was a lion. It was crusty and dirty and there was something wrong with its tail, but it was obviously a lion. The two men moved as the lion approached, and Shezka saw past them.
Summer was laid out on the table, covered in blood, her eyes open and staring.
Shezka gasped.
The two men and the lion looked at her. Shezka dropped her book and ran.
"Stop!" one of them called.
She sprinted through the hall, knocking a tower of books over as she went. It fell with a huge clatter and one of the men cursed, but she could still hear foot steps behind her. The kitchen, the phone, she thought, knocking another pile over. She got through the door and her hand was stretching for the receiver when a weight dropped on her back and her knees, elbows, and chin hit the floor.
The weight crushed all the air out of her lungs. She tried to push him off of her, (it was a man and not the lion at least), but she wasn't strong enough. The weight shifted and an arm slid under her. She was lifted up off the floor and off her feet. The man holding her was saying something, but she couldn't hear him over her own attempts to call for help. His hand muffled her screaming and it all seemed to echo back inside her own head. She knew this wasn't helping, that she should try to bite him or scratch at his eyes, but her brain was spiraling down into a full out panic attack, all she could do was wail uselessly and shake.
They're going to kill me. They're going to kill me. They're going to kill me.
Shezka started to cry. She couldn't help it. Her roommate was dead in the basement and now they had her, and she was going to be murdered and chopped up and fed to a lion and they'd burn down her house and her books and he mother would be so mad at her…
"Oh crap," the man holding her muttered. It was Dorchet she realized. "Stop crying," he ordered. "Just…stop crying!"
"Who is she?" the dark skinned man asked.
He was standing by the stove and the lion was standing next to him.
"…she owns…the house…" the lion said.
Oh god, the lion just talked!
"Go down stairs," Dorchet ordered. "I'll take care of this."
That sounds bad! That sounds really bad!
The man and the lion walked out. Dorchet's grip became even tighter and he carried her towards the kitchen table. Shezka realized she'd left a knife out after she'd used it to slice bread for a sandwich.
I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!
She cried harder and some motor function seemed to be returning. She kicked and tried to pry his hands off of her but he wouldn't let go. She was a bit surprised when he sat down in one of the kitchen chairs with her in his lap.
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Dorchet said. "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It's alright. Calm down, ok? Are you calm?"
Shezka nodded. He removed his hand.
"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me-"
He put his hand over her mouth again.
"That isn't calm Shezka," he said. "Calm is quiet. Do you understand?"
She nodded. He let go of her face again and wiped his hand on his shirt. He shifted his other arm so she could turn and look at him, but he didn't let go enough for her to get away.
"Do you want to know what's going on?" Dorchet asked.
"Summer's…Summer's-" she tried to say.
"She's pretty messed up," Dorchet agreed solemnly.
"She's dead!" Shezka said, sniffling.
"The Boss isn't dead!" he growled and she flinched, shrieking a little.
"The Boss isn't dead," he said again, more calmly. "The Boss isn't like us. She doesn't die easy. She got hit with some major alchemy and she'll be down for a while, but she'll get up again. She just needs time."
"The hospital-" Shezka tried to say.
"They'll turn her over to the government and she'll end up in a lab," he said.
"Why?" Shezka asked.
"We're all escaped test subjects. The military used us and we've seen too much for them to let us go. I don't know where the Boss came from, but she got us out and they'd be more than happy to put her in the ground and put us all back in. I'm not going to let that happen."
"What…what are you going to do to me?" Shezka asked.
"Nothing, if you behave," he said.
"Behave?"
"No Screaming, no running away, and no phone calls, got it?" Dorchet said.
"Yes," Shezka said quietly.
He let go of her and she stood up. She thought she should grab the knife off the table, and try to call for help again, but her arms just hung at her side.
"Alright," Dochet said, taking her arm and pulling her towards the basement steps. "Come on. You're going to stay where we can keep an eye on you."
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Why take the body? It was all Hughes could think as he paced the scene. If the killer had gotten Summer, why take the body? He hadn't taken any of the others. Maybe she had crawled off on her own, but the blood leading away from the scene didn't attest to that. Was it because the attack had not killed her? Was he trying again until he got it right? Or did he realize she was more than a normal human? Was General Gran involved in this somehow? He was probably capable of blowing a man apart with alchemy. Summer could be in one of his labs. But that wouldn't make sense. Gran was just as pissed as everyone else that alchemists were dying left and right. He wasn't that good of an actor besides.
Word had gotten around Central very quickly that Summer Summers, the crazy girl from the typing pool had been carried off by the serial killer. It was just coming up on dawn and off-duty personnel were hanging around outside the barricade. He couldn't tell if it was concern or spite that brought them out, but their half overheard conversations weren't helping him think more clearly.
"Sir!" 2nd Lieutenant Ross said, hurrying towards him through the crowd. Her shadow, Sergeant Brosh, was not far behind.
"Have you found the body?" Hughes asked.
"No sir," the Lieutenant said, saluting. "We did however get a strange report from the East quarter refugee camp. At approximately 0200 this morning, many people in the camp claimed to have seen a large animal, possibly a lion, dragging the body of a woman in dress like the one Private Summers was last seen wearing. A man approached the lion and picked up the woman, and then followed the lion out of the camp."
"Do we have any I.D. on the man?" Hughes asked, very relieved.
It was probably Gabriel and Dorchet. If they had to carry her, it probably meant Summer was in a bad way, but she'd gotten over worse, hadn't she? Well, maybe not worse. More of the Solar Alchemist's brains were in the street than in his head. Still, Summer wasn't in Gran's hands or the killer's. That was something.
"No, Sir," Ross said. "Should we return to the camp and investigate further?"
"No," Hughes said. "Help canvas the immediate area and take statements."
"Yes, Sir!" she said, saluting again as she turned to go.
Hughes could hear Brosh asking Ross why she passed on such a crazy story as they moved off. Hughes knew he couldn't just duck away and go look for her. The hours crawled by. It was nine in the morning before he could leave the scene, and even then it was only to return to Central HQ so he could start filing reports.
Armstrong stopped by around noon, but all Hughes could tell him was that they hadn't found a body, and that if anyone could get out of a situation like that, it was Summer. Armstrong left with his fists clenched, and Hughes knew if the Major found the killer it was going to be a real mess. He frowned, rubbing his eyes. If this guy had taken Summer out, what chance did Armstrong have?
At seven he finally clocked out, stumbling slightly as he navigated the halls. He managed to catch a ride to his house with the Compass Alchemist and his guards, who had taken the last car in the auto pool, but had been willing to share. Hughes stumbled into his living room and left his uniform on the floor by the couch. He went upstairs to the closet and put on his most un-military clothing, and a heavy coat with a high collar. He sat down on the end of his wife's bed and waited for dark.
He'd never been to Summer's new room, which she'd described to him as the basement of the craziest library in the world, but she'd told him the address and it was still fresh in him mind, almost standing out in red letters now. He didn't know if he'd find her there, but it seemed the most likely place to start his search. When night had truly settled in, he slipped out the back door and started hopping fences.
Summer had warned him the Homunculi were on the loose again, so he couldn't risk leading them to her. He reached the street again and started walking towards downtown. Summer's new hideout wasn't that far from his own home, but he wasn't going to be traveling in straight lines. As he turned a corner and passed a well polished display window, he was glad he hadn't given in to the urge to run directly there. A woman was following him.
He didn't catch more than a glimpse, and he wasn't going to stop and stare, but he thought he recognized her from Summer's rather crude pictures. It was one of the homunculi, the one called Lust.
Hughes changed directions, heading instead for the rather run-down bars near Market street. He caught glimpses of the woman in the green dress and opera gloves following him, but she seemed in no hurry to close. He picked the nearest bar and ducked inside. He found a booth, ordered a drink, and settled down. His hands shook as the waitress handed him the glass. He knew he shouldn't, but he downed the scotch in one gulp and ordered another.
He put his face in his hands for a moment. If they were following him, it was likely they'd figured out that he knew the Scrap Demon and Summer, and had at some point figured out they were one in the same. There didn't seem to be any other reason to make a move now, unless they knew she was hurt. Did they know who had hurt her?
"Would you like some company?" a smoky female voice asked.
Hughes looked up, and stifled a groan. The homunculi in the green dress was standing by his table.
"No, thanks," Hughes said.
She slid into the booth, across the table from him, anyway. She kept her hands below the table, and Hughes recalled belatedly Summer's warning that the woman could extend her fingers into razor sharp blades.
"Do you know what's become of Private Summers?" the woman asked.
"I really couldn't tell you," Hughes said, debating whether or not to drop a blade out of the holster in his sleeve.
Summer said they wouldn't die. Mortal blows barely slowed them down. The woman put one of her elbows on the table and rested her head on her hand. She smiled faintly. He felt her other hand on his knee, nails digging in ever-so-slightly.
"We know she ran to your house the last time she was hurt, all those months ago," Lust said. "We've already checked your house, by the way; didn't find a trace of her. We did find all these envelopes post marked from Souss though. You didn't hide your family very well, Lt. Colonel Hughes."
"I don't know what you mean," he said.
"Well what I mean is," she said in a low voice. "It wouldn't be too much trouble for us to send someone out to Souss, to your parent's house. And it really wouldn't be that hard for that someone to kick in the door in the middle of the night, snap you parent's necks, splatter your daughter's guts across a wall, and rip your wife into little screaming pieces. Of course we wouldn't even bother if you were to stop playing these foolish games, and tell us where Private Summers is."
It was all he could do not to run for the nearest phone, the nearest train station. He kept his face expressionless, picked up his second drink, and downed it in a gulp.
"I don't know what you mean," he said again.
A stabbing pain shot up his thigh and he felt blood running down his leg and soaking into his socks.
"Maybe you should think a little harder," Lust said.
"Still drawing a blank," Hughes replied through clenched teeth.
A new pain seared up through his leg. He didn't look down. He didn't really want to see.
"I'm running out of patience," she said. "You're running out of leg."
"I don't know-"
Thunk!
Hughes flinched. He looked down and saw a dark green blade stretching from beneath the table and sticking into his side.
"Is this really worth dying over?" she asked.
"What would you know about dying?" Hughes replied.
This time the blade came straight up through the table, and stuck through his upper arm, pinning him to the vinyl seat of the booth.
"I've caused quite a lot of it," she said. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"
Hughes considered shrugging, but as that motion might cost him his arm, he decided against it. The homunculi sighed. The blades retracted and Hughes couldn't completely choke off an agonized gasp. Lust got up from the table and leaned over him. She put her now-normal-looking hand on his shoulder, wiping his blood off on his coat.
"Think about dying, Maes Hughes," she said. "Think about dying and whether or not you want your wife and daughter doing it with you. I'll visit you in the hospital."
She turned and walked out of the bar. Apparently their 'discussion' had drawn a bit of attention, and many eyes were on the homunculi as she walked out. Hughes thought it was also time for him to leave, but his right leg wouldn't take any weight. He looked at the growing puddle of blood on the seat of the booth and the floor. He waved the waitress over with his left hand, as the right had gone a bit numb below the puncture wound.
"Could you call an ambulance, please?" Hughes asked.
She nodded mutely, and he slumped over his table.
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It had been two whole days. Blood wasn't poring out of her anymore, but that could just mean she had run out. Dorchet couldn't feel a pulse, and when he leaned his ear against her chest to listen for her heart beat, he still couldn't tell. There was a handprint outlined on her forehead, and the bone beneath it was spongy. Every once in a while she would twitch though, and rigor hadn't set in. That had to mean something, didn't it? She didn't smell like a corpse at least.
The Boss had never stayed down this long. Even when she was shot in the head she'd show some improvement after a couple of hours. Now there was nothing. Maybe it was because she was attacked with alchemy. Maybe it canceled out whatever power had allowed her to regenerate. He needed to talk to an alchemist, but the only ones the Boss trusted, the Elric brothers, had been gone for months.
He looked around the room. Gabriel was dozing in front of the door. Elem sat on the couch with his arms crossed and a far away look on his face. The Ishbalan hadn't taken well to the idea that one of his people had attacked Summer, but Gabriel had been certain. The killer was an Ishbalan with an x-shaped scar across his face. Next to Elem sat Shezka, a book clutched to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Dorchet felt guilty for scaring her, since she was the Boss's friend…or under the Boss's protection at least. She seemed to have calmed down, but if she acted up, they'd have to incapacitate her further.
"Can you keep an eye on things?" Dorchet asked Elem.
The Ishbalan nodded. Gabriel sat up suddenly and scowled, but Dorchet wasn't in the mood to humor the stupid cat. If he'd done his job, the Boss wouldn't have gotten hurt.
If she hadn't sent me away…
Dorchet shook off the thought. "I'm going to see if Marta and Loa are in town yet, and maybe find her buddy Hughes. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Elem nodded, glancing over at the body. Dorchet picked up one of the swords he'd brought to Central with him, and strapped it onto his back. He arranged his coat over it. Gabriel growled as Dorchet passed and he growled back. If the Boss wasn't in trouble, he'd tear that friggin' cat a new one.
Central was unusually quiet. He went by the train station, but couldn't catch Loa or Marta's scents. Hughes wasn't at his house, and Dorchet wasn't going to risk running through the Military headquarters to look for him. He checked his watch. He'd left Shezka's house an hour ago. With a frustrated growl he headed for downtown, to the scene of the attack.
They'd taken down the yellow tape, and made a cursory effort to wash away the blood, but it still stained the cobbles. He was a little surprised to find a pile of flowers and candles set up in a make-shift memorial around one of the larger stains. Dorchet waited there for a half hour, watching. Several people came by to add to it. He recognized a few from the market, and some were soldiers still in uniform. He wondered if the Boss knew she was this popular, or that her alter ego was so famous. (He still thought of the Slayer as the real her.)
He was a bit startled when he heard Lt. Colonel Hughes mentioned by a couple of secretaries, who were dropping off flowers and a handful of broken typewriter keys. He focused in on their conversation.
"-to a bar when he got off work. Some woman just walked in, stabbed him, and walked out," one said.
"It wasn't his wife was it?" the other asked.
"Nope. But did you hear the rumor about him and Private Summers?"
"Which one?"
"Scuse me?" Dorchet said, butting in.
They turned to look at him, slightly offended.
"Did you say somebody stabbed Hughes?" he asked.
"Yeah," one said. "Last night. He's in the Military hospital at HQ. What's it to you?"
"Not a thing," Dorchet said.
He turned and took off at a sprint. It looked like he'd have to visit the base anyway.
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The military hospital wasn't as heavily guarded as he expected, but it was still a challenge to get by Major Armstrong, who was guarding the door to Hughes' room. Dorchet borrowed some scrubs, a clipboard and a nurses' I.D. talked his way in, though Armstrong insisted the door remain open while he spoke to Hughes.
Dorchet nearly choked on the desperation and terror in the room as he entered. There wasn't a window, which was good for security, but bad for someone with such a dominant sense of smell. Hughes looked a bit surprised to see him, but didn't say anything incriminating. The only bandages he could see were around Hughes' right arm, but from his pale face, he guessed there were a lot more hidden by his blankets.
"How are you feeling this evening, sir?" Dorchet asked, though his nose was telling him bad, with a side of agony.
"Alright, I guess," Hughes said.
As they spoke, Dorchet began to write on the clipboard.
Summer's alive, but out. Where's Elric?
Hughes looked relieved by the first part and confused by the second. He held out his left hand for the pen and wrote out a number and extension for Eastern HQ.
"Are your pain-killers working?" Dorchet asked as the silence seemed to be stretching too long.
Who attacked you? the Chimera wrote.
Hughes looked at him long and hard as Dorchet held up the clipboard. He took the pen from the chimera.
Lust. They know where my wife is.
Armstrong looked into the room again, and Hughes started some rambling description of his daughter's latest drawing.
Do you want out of here? Dorchet wrote.
No. They'll follow. Tell Gracia to go somewhere else. Tell her to run.
Hughes wrote out another phone number and extension. Dorchet nodded and tucked the papers they'd written on into his shirt. Dorchet left after that. As he walked through the hall he picked up an unpleasantly familiar scent. There was a homunculi in the building.
He thought it over as he ditched the scrubs and got back into his own clothing. He couldn't beat one of those things on his own, and though he liked Hughes well enough, the Boss came first. Hughes survived one run in with those creatures, he might be able to slide through another. Dorchet would warn his family. It was the best he could do for now.
He snuck off of military property, and went looking for a pay phone. He found one, but paused before entering. He sniffed the air, but didn't find anything. With great foreboding he pulled open the red folding door of the booth, and stepped in. Dialing took forever, and he felt watched as he waited for the operators to put him through to Eastern HQ. Even after he gave them the extension, they continued to demand more information, of which he had very little. He finally went to repeating the same request again and again, hoping the Fullmetal Alchemist was famous enough for them to know where to send him.
"I need to talk to Edward Elric," Dorchet said for the hundredth time.
"Hang on a moment," the latest operator said.
The line clicked and popped as connections were made.
"Hello?" a man answered.
"I need to talk to Edward Elric," Dorchet said again.
"Fullmetal is out on assignment," the man said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"Where? Do you have the number?" Dorchet asked. The watched feeling was growing.
"Who is this?" the man asked.
"Who is this?" Dorchet demanded right back.
"You realize it's a crime to misuse military lines, don't you?" the man said in the same bored tone.
"You realize I'm about three seconds from getting on a train and coming out there to kick your ass?" he yelled into the phone.
"Are you really?" the other said, amused.
Dorchet couldn't help it. He snarled into the phone and heard the hand set on the other end hit the floor as it was dropped in surprise. There was some more clattering as it was retrieved.
"Are you still there?" the now not-so-amused man asked.
"Yeah," Dorchet growled.
"Fullmetal is out of contact. If you have a message I could pass it along the next time he checks in," the man said.
Dorchet frowned. He didn't trust the military, especially faceless nobodies buried somewhere in the bureaucracy. Still, it didn't look like he was going to get anything else out of this phone call.
"Tell Fullmetal that half his contacts in Central have been sliced up and he needs to get his runty ass out here, now!" Dorchet said.
He hoped that was cryptic enough to avoid direct trouble. He hung up the phone before the other man could talk again, and started dialing the next number. He had just gotten through to a sleep befuddled Gracia in Souss when somebody tapped on the glass door of the booth.
"Hughes says run," Dorchet said.
He dropped the receiver and went for his sword.
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"Who was it, Sir?" Lt. Riza Hawkeye asked her C.O. as he stared at the phone in his hand. She could hear the dial tone.
"A man who refused to identify himself," Colonel Mustang said. "He wants me to tell Fullmetal to get back to Central."
"Do you think it has something to do with the killings?" she asked.
Mustang frowned. "Do we have the latest casualty report?" he asked.
Hawkeye stepped up to his desk and fished expertly through the in-box the Colonel had made only the most cursory attempt to clear. She pulled out the report and handed it to him. He started reading through the list.
"The Silver Alchemist, the Solar Alchemist, Captain Donovan, Sergeant Tems, Private Lee, Private Montgomery, Private Smith, Private Summers-"
He stopped reading for a moment.
"Sir?" Hawkeye asked.
"I think it would be best if Fullmetal didn't see this list."
"Yes, sir. Though I don't know if that will be a problem. He still hasn't reported in from West Lodia," Hawkeye pointed out.
Mustang frowned, and wondered if he wasn't too late to stop his subordinate from rushing into something stupid.
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The Eastern Boarder Delivery Line, Four days earlier…
"I can do this on my own," Ed said for the thousandth time.
Lt. Jean Havoc just shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. "The Colonel says 'go with you', I go with you."
Ed frowned and pushed the window open a little further, making a show of getting rid of the smoke. They were in the cheap seats, the third class car instead of a private compartment, and despite having been in the same car for fourteen hours, the people around them were still giving them funny looks. Of course a large suit of armor, a slacking soldier with a rifle, and a guy in a bright red coat tended to draw stares. At least the crowd was starting to thin. Thankfully not many wanted to go to West Lodia. Especially me, Ed thought.
"We can handle a few loose Chimera," Ed insisted.
Havoc shrugged again. "You seemed to have trouble after the thing with Tucker," he pointed out casually.
Ed bit down a retort. It had been about three years since the incident with Tucker and Nina, and Mustang, the Bastard Colonel, still wouldn't let it go. Of course there was another reason Ed didn't want Havoc along. If the Chimera accused of attacking people were the ones Summer had released from that Lab in Central…the rules might require some bending for the situation to be resolved. Ed had only ever met a handful of those Summer had freed, but they didn't seem the type to draw attention to themselves. So there had to be something else going on, and now on top of that he'd have to worry about Havoc reporting every little thing to the Colonel.
Of course the Colonel seemed to find out about everything he did, whether he reported it of not: the mess in Leore, the thief, Psiron, the fake Elrics in Xenotime. The only big secret Ed and Al still had was the Chimera and Summer and whatever it was they had been up to during the quarantine and plague. They'd given the Colonel a few details, but only enough to torture his curiosity. Ed was very fond of saying 'I was sick and don't remember it so well'. If those chimera were loose in West Lodia it would probably all come out.
Ed went over the file again. So far, twenty people had been reported missing over the past few weeks, and the population of homeless and transients had all but vanished from the town. The local constable had found one body, but most of the soft tissue had rotted away, so the cause of death wasn't obvious. There were suspicions that the people were being kidnapped and sold as slaves over the boarder to Cretia, but there was nothing to back that up.
The chimera theory had been included in the report by some low level officer, who claimed to have seen one. The man reported that late one night a strange woman with a lumpy face, yellow eyes, and fangs came to his window, and tried to get him to come outside. No one else believed the man, but Mustang had jumped all over the report, and passed the grunt-work down to Ed.
Tacked on at the very end was a third theory about alien abduction, since half the town had reported seeing a strange "other worldly" light in some nearby mountains a few days before the disappearances started. At this point Ed was sort of hoping for saucer people.
"Big Brother," Al said as he looked out the window of the train. "I've got a bad feeling."
"About what?" Ed asked as he went over the witness list that had been forwarded.
"I don't know," Al said as dusk settled over the train. "I just feel…like…something bad is going to happen."
"Something bad always happens," Ed said dismissively.
"Don't worry about it," Havoc said. "If it was something really big, the Colonel would have sent more people."
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The West Lodia station was completely deserted. The three of them wandered through the station, as dim electric bulbs flickered on and off above their heads. There was a public phone booth just outside, but it didn't have a dial tone. Ed frowned and glared at the clock above the station entrance. It was a quarter past nine. He looked up and down the street. The stats for the town put the population at 2783, but not a single person was out.
"What kind a' town shuts down at nine!" Ed demanded.
"Don't know, Chief," Havoc said, stamping out another cigarette. "This whole place is too damn quiet."
"Was somebody supposed to meet us?" Al asked.
Ed shrugged. "Who cares? Let's find a hotel. We can bother the local Military office in the morning."
"Right," Havoc said. "Map said they're all towards the center of town."
Havoc took the lead, and Ed was a bit surprised when the soldier took his rifle from his shoulder and undid the safety. As they walked Ed started to get an unpleasant feeling on the back of his neck. He could see lights on in just about every house, but he heard no voices, and the shadows that moved across windows were quick and nervous.
Ed saw someone peering through the curtains of their living room, a girl with large frightened eyes. He stopped walking and considered knocking on the door, to ask what the hell was wrong, but she ducked away and the cloth pulled shut again. Ed frowned and turned to catch up with Al and Havoc, who were halfway down the block and walking much too fast.
A hand clamped over his mouth. He was lifted off his feet and carried into an alley. Ed kicked but he couldn't loosen the arm, like a steel band across his chest. His automail arm was pinned to his side while the other was tugging uselessly at the hand over his mouth, which suddenly pulled, wrenching his head back and to the side, against his attacker's shoulder. He thought for a second that the man was going to cut his throat, but to do that he'd have to let go with one hand or the other. He tensed, waiting for his chance.
A sharp stabbing pain shot through his neck and he yelped, though the hand over his mouth stole most of the sound.
Did this freak just bite me?!
Ed kicked but his attacker just shuffled forward and squashed Ed's lower body between himself and the wall of the alley. He tried to bite the hand silencing him. His attacker just laughed, causing his teeth to slide around in Ed's neck and sending out another wave of stinging pain. This was followed by a horrible slurping sound, and Ed realized his attacker had not only bitten him, he was drinking his blood.
What the hell? What the hell?
Ed tried twisting. He tried to push against the wall and knock both himself and his attacker over, but the man only squashed him harder against the bricks.
His heart shuddered. Ed knew this feeling. He'd had it before, when half his blood had been spilled out over the basement floor of his mother's house in Resembool. His heart didn't have enough to work with. How could this guy be drinking so much blood? Ed's mind started to wander over the calculations. It shouldn't be possible to drink someone to death. The human stomach couldn't hold much more than a liter and Ed, based on body weight, had to have at least six pints of blood…
His kicks were getting weaker, and apparently the man wasn't worried about him tipping them over any more, since he stepped back from the wall. His attacker's grip was slacking. The jaws clamped on his neck let up.
"It's almost over, little one," the man whispered in his ear.
His vision didn't clear, but suddenly Ed's world turned red.
LITTLE ONE?
Maybe he could stand being murdered in an alley, but calling him that? Adrenalin surged passed pain and fear and he thrashed like a maniac, breaking his surprised attacker's grip. Ed somersaulted forward and bounced off the alley wall. His feet swung upwards, clipping his attacker in the chin. His head was spinning as he rolled upright again and brought his hands together, transmuting his right arm into a blade.
The light in the alley was poor, but Ed could see the shadowed figure coming at him. He dropped to one knee and swept the blade up. Dust rained down on him and got in his eyes. He gasped and started to choke on the foul powder. He tried to wipe his eyes clear, looking for his attacker. The alley seemed empty. He was certain his blade had connected. He'd felt the resistance. Had the man just thrown something on him and run away?
Ed got up leaning against the wall of alley. He looked around blinking as his vision went dark. He sank back to his knees and for a moment sight came back. He had to find Al. He crawled towards the mouth of the alley. His head hurt and though he could see again, his vision was tunneled and foggy. He got to the end of alley, and decided it would be a good idea to rest, for just a second. He'd just closed his eyes for a second…or a minute…and then he'd be able to go look for Al…
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Author's Note: So, whadya think? Hmmmmmmmmmmm? Reviews are good! Reviews are great! More reviews means faster update!
Also, for all the people yelling for Dawn, she won't be here for a few chapters, but she's keeping busy while we aren't watching!