Disclaimer: I don't own FMA

The Meat Grinder was appropriately named, it was, not to put too fine a point on it, a massive killing field. At one point it had been the area in the East with the highest population density, with an average of a town or village for every five or so square miles. Now, thanks to the abundance of supplies that naturally comes with such a populous area, it was the place where guerrilla bands were most likely to collide, with deadly results. There was always someone fighting in the Meat Grinder, no matter where you went you could hear the sounds of gunfire, and the sky was always filled with clouds of circling birds, nature's undertakers, it was in a word terrifying.

Sean walked through this apocalyptic wasteland staring in disgust. It was hot, so hot he could actually feel a build-up of salt on his face as his sweat evaporated. And the smell, it was like walking through an abandoned slaughterhouse, one that no one had ever bothered to clean out. He heard a trickle of water and immediately began to look for the source. Suddenly he caught the gleam of light on liquid and leapt forward thrusting his hands into the stream to splash his face clean. Only to jerk his hands back out with a yell of surprise and revulsion, his hands were dripping with red.

Amber looked over and saw the cause of his yell, "It's probably flowing from the center of the Grinder," she commented, "Any stream that comes from the center is always like that." She gave him a rag to wipe his hands on, "Try not to drink any water from here."

Sean stared at his hands, or rather the bloody water that dripped from them sluggishly. For reasons he couldn't put into words it made him uneasy, and not because of what made the water red. He had a strange feeling, if he had known the word he would have said it was like precognition. However Sean had always studied hard scientific fact, and had never come across the word before. But nevertheless as he stared at the red drops falling from his fingers, he almost felt like he'd seen it before, or that he'd see it again. It was a vaguely disturbing feeling, like all the hair on his body was standing on end at once, he didn't like it.

As the day went on, and the temperatures rose, the stench of death got thicker and thicker, until it was almost like a physical barrier. Several guerrillas passed out through the combined efforts of the reek and the intense heat. Sean had taken to sniffing gasoline at intervals, Amber had caught him doing it at camp once and told him not to since it was unhealthy, but the feeling it gave him helped him ignore the other smells, and also kept him from ejecting his guts through his mouth.

As Sean was putting the cap back on a gas can, he heard a funny noise like a squelch from beside him. Glancing over he saw a man standing next to him, there was something wrong with him. Sean couldn't figure out what it was but something was wrong, later Sean would realize that there are certain things which are so fundamentally wrong, that when you see them for the first time the brain simply refuses to process it. Sean was spared further confusion when the man's mangled brains fell out of the massive exit wound which had replaced the back of his head. Sean felt his jaw drop, as his brain told him to throw up, run the fuck away, and scream at the same time. As he stood there trying to make sense out of the jumbled mess his mind had turned into, someone snatched the gas can from his hand lit it on fire and threw it, turning it into a makeshift grenade. At that point a fourth part of Sean's mind, namely I'm Stoned came into play, indignantly demanding that he yell at that guy for taking his gas. The 'whump' sound the can made as it exploded and the whistling sound of shards of steel slicing through the air however caused Sean to make up his mind, he settled on the fifth part of his brain which had just spoken up, 'Get behind something you fucking moron,' Common Sense said to him irritably. Sean decided Common Sense was a pretty bright guy and ducked behind a man firing a submachine gun from the hip... who immediately took three bullets in the chest and collapsed. 'Something less likely to die, screwball,' Common Sense sighed, Sean dived behind a jagged broken wall joining a number of other guerrillas, who were taking turns popping up from behind it to shoot at their attackers.

'Very good,' Common Sense said patronizingly, 'now if you can just avoid standing up while bullets are flying through the air you might make it out of this.' Sean mused that Common Sense was actually an annoying smug bastard, then he wondered if he was crazy, 'Yeah you're nuts,' I'm Stoned commented, 'but it's all good,'

"Oh will you fuck off," Sean moaned, "My life is complicated enough without you bastards."

"Damn straight kid!" A guerrilla next to him said. Sean sat there a moment trying to figure what the guerrilla was talking about, then he remembered, 'Right, people shooting at us...' Grady walked by inspecting the lines, barely looking at Sean he tossed something metallic in his direction. Sean snatched from the air without thinking, then inspected the object. It was a fully loaded forty-four magnum revolver, Sean stared at it a moment wondering what he was supposed to do with it, then he figured it out and immediately shook his vehemently, he liked his brains right where they were thank you very much.

A few minutes later Grady passed by again, he immediately noticed the still-loaded revolver, he came over crouching next to the child, "You haven't fired yet," he stated.

Sean swallowed nervously, "N-no sir."

Grady gave him a scornful look, "I can see you need instructions, I'll make it easy for you, on one you will stand up, on two you will aim, on three you will pull that trigger, are we clear?.... One..."

Sean sat there staring at Grady in fear, suddenly he felt something cold pressed to his temple. "Don't think I won't do it," Grady said softly, coldly, "Now let's try this again shall we? One..."

Sean stood feeling as though his heart was about to pound it's way out of his chest.

"Two..."

Sean raised the revolver certain any moment he would feel hot lead rip through his body.

"Three..."

Sean closed his eyes tightly and pulled the trigger once, twice, a third time each time the gun roared and bucked in his hands. He opened his eyes and stared out at the field unsure whether he'd hit anything or not. At that moment as he stood there wondering a massive bullet whizzed past him ripping the head from the man standing next to him. On instinct Sean turned at pointed his revolver at the glint of the scope some fifty yards away, and pulled the trigger. The sniper made no more shots, after the battle the guerrillas went around the field collecting weapons and supplies from dead enemies. One man found a dead sniper fifty-seven yards from their position, the scope of his rifle was shattered and the side of his head torn of by a forty-four slug, the guerrilla shrugged and moved on.