Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist in any way. I wrote this just for fun. Most of the dialogue is based off A-Keep subtitles and my knowledge of Japanese.
15 Ishbal Massacre
The blond major walked toward the renegade murder. The man who had killed nine, make that ten, state alchemists, known only to the military as Scar. "Representative of God, try to execute me, the Strong Arm Alchemist, Alex Louis Armstrong."
With the heave of his mighty fists, he launched solid rock missiles at the smaller man. Bursts of yellow projectiles filled the tunnel and large spikes erupted from the ground. Scar sliced through the sharp rock with an answering red crackle of light.
Major Armstrong's military jacket was flung into the air, displaying a thickly defined torso and bulging muscles. A fanciful person might have even said there were pink sparkles glistening around the glorious male specimen. "Behind destruction exists creation! And behind creation exists destruction. Destroy then create. This is the law of the universe."
"I'll deal with you after I kill the Fullmetal and Crystal Alchemists."
A muscle beneath Armstrong's left eye twitched. With a low grunt, he drew back a powerful fist. Scar barely dodged the surely fatal blow, the steel gloves grazing the rims of his glasses. The tinted sunglasses broke on the stone floor.
Scar's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He noted the alchemist's superbly executed combination of strength and alchemy. It made things much more difficult.
Major Armstrong remained in the same position, fists still at ready. But his fingers were limp. The man did indeed have a large, white, X-shaped scar. But Armstrong's blue eyes were riveted on the murderer's. They were red. Red eyes. Brown skin and red eyes. That could only mean…
Scar took advantage of the major's hesitation. With lightning quick steps, he darted behind the larger man and slammed a glowing red palm against the stone tunnel wall. Armstrong shielded his eyes from the smoke and bits of debris that exploded into the air.
"I thought your God forbids alchemy."
Scar lowered his hand from the gaping hole he had created and leveled a glance at Armstrong.
The major mentally reassessed his opponent. The transmutation process could be described in three steps: understanding, decomposing and reassembling. Scar must be stopping the transmutation process at the second step, decomposition. "You are using alchemy."
"I only do what this arm tells me to do." His eyes widened and his pupils contracted to fierce dots of hazel. Scar lifted said arm and fisted it. "Even if it goes against God's will." With those words, more spikes burst out of the floor. Yellow light immediately countered it. Red and yellow danced a ferocious tangle amidst the crash and bang of rock and stone.
The explosion could be heard for miles.
Rain dripped from the stark edges of Central's buildings, coating the city in a drab gray.
Ed peeked out of the alley he, Al and Dr. Marcoh were hiding in. Thankfully, due to the rain, there were very few people about. Too bad it wasn't just normal people they were worried about. The three dashed across the street and paused under the shelter of a small café.
"Niisan, what are we going to do now?"
"I want to get as far away from that sunglasses guy as possible."
A large black dog began to bark at an oncoming car. Usually, Ed ignored such disturbances, but today was no ordinary day. Wariness tingled from tips of his ears to his toes.
Three black military issue sedans slowly made their way down the street. Ed pushed Marcoh behind one of the café's large planters. Al tried to do the same and crouch behind the adjacent planter, but his shoulders and helmet were still clearly visible. Ed turned his back to the street, careful to hide his automail arm since the sleeve of his red jacket was torn to shreds.
They remained in their positions until the three cars had passed a sufficient distance.
"Excuse me," Ed politely interrupted a passing waitress. "Can we use your back door?"
Ed marched purposefully down the alleys – no destination in mind, but his purpose clear. Protect Dr. Marcoh and themselves from the scarred man and the military.
"We're not going back to East Headquarters, are we?"
"Brigadier General Grand is involved with this," Ed answered Al's question, "which means that the Colonel probably can no longer protect Dr. Marcoh."
"And there's a lot of people from Central City there, too."
Marcoh's breath hitched. "There are other people from Central City here?"
"The Fuhrer and his party are here."
"To capture me?" Fear gleamed in his widened eyes.
"No, that's not it," Al hastily reassured him.
The sound of children's playful laughter reached their ears as they emerged from the damp alley. A scruffy group of kids ran around waving sticks at each other and a little girl and her brother played with balls of hardened mud.
Ed smiled at their carefree play and turned to head in the other direction.
Marcoh hadn't moved; his eyes were still fixed on the children, his expression somber. "It's enough. We don't have to run anymore."
Ed turned back.
"I don't care if that man kills me," Marcoh continued almost as if to himself. "He has the right to do it."
Breda heaved at the heavy concrete debris. Fuery stood behind him, worriedly clutching a rather useless shovel. He heaved once more, straining the buttons of his blue uniform.
"Colonel!" Breda's shout drifted out of the large hole in the ground. "We found him!"
They found the normally ebullient major in the midst of the rubble, half propped up by a pile of debris. His torso was decorated with scrapes and bruises but nothing appeared life-endangering.
Mustang crouched down in front of the groaning Strong-Arm Alchemist. "Major!" he snapped sharply. "Hey, Major! What happened?"
A rumble of debris was punctuated by a series of "ouches." Mustang's unit looked up to see Lieutenant Colonel Hughes skittering down the ladder. With a sigh, he approached the other officers. "It's a mess here," he commented.
Havoc turned to Hughes. "Lieutenant Colonel, where's Brigadier General Grand?"
A shadow dropped over Hughes face and he slightly grimaced. "If he's still alive after what happened to him, then the great Iron Blood Alchemist is able to come back to life after being turned into a hamburger."
"But he was an expert in close combat," Fuery protested.
Hughes shrugged. He couldn't do anything about it. He slid a sidelong glance at Mustang, who acknowledged the look with an imperceptible nod.
"It's Scar," Hughes confided to Mustang in a low voice. "There's no doubt about it."
"He –" The Major's voice came out strained and relatively weak for the Armstrong's usually high decibel level. "He was an Ishbal person."
"Major, stay put!" Hughes commanded as Armstrong tried to get to his feet.
"My apologies that I could not carry out your orders, Lieutenant Colonel," he apologized, his eyes lowered to the ground. "I saw his skin and eyes." He raised his gaze to meet Hughes'. "They were indeed the traits of an Ishbalian."
"I see," Mustang said quietly. "So he has good reason to go after the State Alchemists."
Ed didn't understand. "Why do you have to be killed just because he's from Ishbal?" he demanded.
"The people of Ishbal were the ones who started the war for independence, right?" Al spoke up. As the companion and younger brother of the famous State Alchemist, Al was often underestimated and few people knew just how intelligent he was. "A lot of them died, but the military also suffered a lot of casualties, too."
"If everyone who lost a war wanted revenge, there would be a lot of avenging going on," Ed said without a hint of sarcasm.
"It wasn't a war. It was a massacre." Marcoh kept his gaze straight ahead, not looking at the young boy who had risked almost everything to find and protect him.
"The people of Ishbal were a tribe in the eastern area who worshipped Ishbala as their one and only creator. Their view of religion was different from ours. We believe that everything in this world can be solved mathematically. And we value the alchemic principle of equivalent trade. But the people of Ishbal regarded alchemy as an act of the devil that morphs objects given by God into something evil."
"Protests erupted because of that. But thirteen years ago, an officer mistakenly shot a child during an inspection. After that incident, large-scale civil wars and riots broke out." Marcoh could still see the ravaged town, the bloody civilian corpses and their red-eyed children crying over their dead mothers' bodies. "Eventually, the civil war spread throughout the entire East area and turned into a seven year war. In the final years of the war, the high ranking officials decided to use State Alchemists in the war."
"Why?" Marcoh demanded. He stood before Grand in a tent on the outskirts of the battles. "The Ishbal people possess neither alchemic knowledge nor modern weaponry because of their teachings. Is there a meaning in trampling them even more?"
Grand didn't even acknowledge Marcoh's exhaustive complaints. "Did you bring it?" he asked simply.
Marcoh drew up short. "It's still in its research phase and there should not be any reason to use it…"
Grand hefted the ornate gold trinket he was studying. "But the civil war continues to spread."
A young State Alchemist Roy Mustang stood silently behind the older alchemist, carefully concealing his dislike for the Iron Blood Alchemist.
"But because we try to subdue them with force, more tribes support them."
Kimblee scoffed at Marcoh's defense of the tribes. The black-haired alchemist sat negligently on crates stacked on the side of the tent, picking at his fingernails. "Are you trying to say that the Fuhrer is doing something wrong?" He brushed off his nails and reached out his palm to Marcoh. A transmutation circle was tattooed across the tender flesh.
"We already have thousands of military casualties, as well as civilian casualties in the tens of thousands. This is war." Grand looked Marcoh in the eye. "Crystal Alchemist, I order you to show it to me."
With gritted teeth, Marcoh obeyed, placing a thin wooden case on the desk. He opened the flimsy metal latch with great reluctance, revealing three tiny vials of pink liquid cushioned on a bed of white material.
Kimblee gleefully leered at the case's contents, his fingers clawed, ready to pounce.
Grand lifted one vial out of the case and held it up to the light. "To end the war as soon as possible, starting tomorrow, I permit the usage of transmutation amplifying devices.
"What happened after that?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"In one night, everything was wiped clean in the battlefields the State Alchemists were sent to."
Bearing rings or pendants made of crystallized forms of the liquid, the State Alchemists' abilities were multiplied ten fold, allowing them to use their powers to annihilate. Mustang engulfed cities in flame in one snap; Armstrong uprooted villages with one punch; Grand transmuted into a human machine gun; and Kimblee set off a multitude of bombs.
Marcoh stared dumbstruck what was not left before him. Heedless of the blood-stained ground he stood on, he gazed for miles and miles at nothing. Where villages should have been, there was absolutely nothing but ash and rubble.
Mustang gazed out the window, Hawkeye a step behind him as Armstrong lay on the hospital bed swathed in bandages. With a repressed groan Armstrong began to sit up. They turned at the sound and saluted smartly as the Fuhrer and his secretary entered the room.
"Owie!" One of the boys cried out as he fell to the ground grasping his ankle.
Without thinking, Marcoh rushed forward to kneel by the boy, beckoning him to show him the injury. He removed the stone from his back pocket and held it over the swollen ankle. The stone cast a pink glow over the injury.
"On the battlefield, I met a married couple." Marcoh directed his narrative to the Elric brothers as he continued to administer treatment to the boy. "They were doctors and they treated everyone, ally or foe."
The stone stopped glowing. "How does it feel?" he asked the boy. The boy wiggled his foot around experimentally, then beamed at the doctor. He sprang to his feet and thanked Marcoh before running off with his friends.
Marcoh's expression remained somber. "But they died."
The shot pierced the still air of the medical building. Two bloody bodies lay atop one another on the floor. Roy stood over them, his military issue gun still held trembling in his two hands, his eyes widened and teeth gritted in horror at what he just did.
"Colonel Grand, what is the meaning of this?" Marcoh demanded.
"This place was a communication center for the Ishbal remnants," he replied, making notes on his clipboard. "The doctors worked with them."
"All they wanted to do was save as many people as possible!"
"The lives they save eventually kill my men."
Marcoh looked back at the bloody bodies of the doctors. Beneath the hand of the husband lay a shattered picture frame. Almost entirely covered by his blood was the smiling face of a blond little girl.
The empty beer bottle clattered to the ground. Roy stood over the stained concrete of the medical center. His haunted eyes widened and he reached for his gun – the same gun that had ended the lives of the innocent doctors. He placed the muzzle under his chin and grasped the trigger – he knew how to do it. He'd pulled it many times before.
"Stop."
Roy turned at the order. Marcoh stood in the doorway in a black overcoat, a black briefcase in his hand.
"You just followed orders. I am responsible for this. They were doctors like me and saved lives, but I…" He couldn't finish the sentence – couldn't bear to think of the heinous crimes his cursed research had done.
"What should I do?"
"Can you not say anything and let me go?"
"After that, I took the Philosopher's Stone and all documents related to it. But it was too late. The people of Ishbal were annihilated and I heard that there were few survivors." Rain dripped steadily from the doctor's salt and pepper hair.
Ed and Al had stood quietly throughout the alchemist's story. Ed finally spoke. "You don't have to die because of that."
Marcoh didn't look at the teenager. "He has a valid reason to carry out revenge."
Ed's golden eyes flashed with anger. "Revenge that involves unrelated people isn't revenge at all," he cried. "All he's doing is hiding his hate behind the title of God's Representative and pretending to be so sublime."
"But if the same thing happened to you, Niisan, I would do the same." Al's quiet rejoinder cooled Ed's temper. "That follows the principle of equivalent trade, doesn't it?"
Ed bit the inside of his lip and he lowered his gaze to the ground. "No. Revenge isn't going to bring anything back," he said softly. "You just have to live. Live and be happy."
Ed noticed the ugly dent on Al's right forearm from where Scar had grabbed him. "Here," he reached for Al's arm, "let me fix that." Ed clapped his hands and transmuted the bruised metal back into place. When he finished he turned to Dr. Marcoh. "Marcoh, would you like to hide in our hometown? It takes three days by train."
Al grinned sheepishly. "It's kind of difficult for us to return there, though."
"A family named Rockbell lives there," Ed began. He closed his mouth at the older alchemist's horrified expression.
"Rockbell," Marcoh repeated, backing away and shaking his head. "I can't go there." He spun around and ran.
The rain had come again. Central's skies were once again gray and cloudy. A very fitting day for death.
"There he is!" A soldier pointed at the fleeing Scar. A dozen military soldiers lifted their rifles and took aim. With amazing agility, Scar avoided the gunshots and turned on his pursuers.
"How foolish. So you depend on weapons developed through cursed alchemy. So…" He slammed his right palm on the hot pavement of the road. Loose threads danced wildly from the tattered edge of his ripped sleeve. His tattoo burned red and beginning from beneath his palm, the road rippled and burst into rubble. In a matter of seconds, the path of the crumbling road ran straight into the soldiers.
Startled, the soldiers scrambled to recover their balance. Having sufficiently detained them, Scar turned to finish his pursuit of the Fullmetal and Crystal Alchemists. A single gunshot rang out and a bullet whizzed past Scar's head.
"Stop right there."
Too startled to do otherwise, Scar obeyed the order. The roadway in front of him was blocked by a black sedan and half a dozen more military officers. A young man with hair the color of coal stepped forward, pulling on a white glove.
"Colonel Mustang." A blond-haired woman in uniform rushed up behind him.
Scar tensed at the name. "Mustang. A State Alchemist."
The man's black eyes narrowed. "Correct." Drops of rain clung to the black overcoat he wore over his blue military uniform and from the long bangs partially covering his eyes.
"Colonel." Riza whispered the urgent warning from behind Mustang. He threw his gun aside. Reflexively, Riza caught it.
"I am the Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang." He raised his left hand, clearly displaying the red embroidered array on the back of his glove.
Scar smiled grimly. "Another one who goes against the path God gave us appears."
"You still want to fight me knowing who I am?"
"Colonel." Riza's strangled warning was louder and more insistent this time. She offered the gun back to her unarmed superior officer. Mustang didn't take his obsidian eyes off the renegade Ishbalite.
Without bothering with an answer, Scar sprinted towards the State Alchemist, tattooed arm outstretched. Roy pointed his fingers, poised to snap. He carefully gauged the rapidly shrinking distance between them.
"Colonel!" A booted foot swept out and knocked Mustang's feet out from under him. From her crouching position, Riza deftly twisted the handle of the Colonel's gun in her palm and unholstered the firearm at her hip with her other hand. In rapid succession, she fired both guns at the oncoming man, emptying both clips. Narrowly escaping the barrage of bullets, Scar fled to the wall of the nearest building.
Roy lifted himself to his elbows grimacing at his soiled black coat and the ache he knew he'd have the next day in his lower back. See if he'd do the paperwork Hawkeye put in front of him come tomorrow. At least his uniform wasn't completely ruined. "Lieutenant, what was that for all of a sudden?" he yelled.
Hawkeye got to her feet but didn't take her eyes off Scar. With the ease of experience, she emptied her gun's magazine and reloaded in seconds. "You're useless when it's raining, so please stay back, Colonel," she requested in a clipped voice.
Roy's jaw dropped. "That's true, the Colonel can't make any sparks when it's this damp," Havoc agreed. He frowned as his cigarette drooped in the rain. Roy reddened to the tips of his ears.
Scar placed his hand against the building and ripped a path of rubble up its side. Hawkeye took aim at the wanted murderer. "Fire!" she shouted to the other soldiers. Nimbly, Scar scaled the building using the mutilated concrete for hand and foot holds. Without so much as a scratch, he disappeared over the top of the building.
Hawkeye drew up her gun. "He's fast, isn't he?"
"Go after him," Mustang ordered the other soldiers from his position on the wet ground. He turned to the officers behind him. "Second Lieutenant Breda, go wait for Fullmetal at the station."
"Why would Edward be at the station?" Breda questioned, not making the connection.
Roy picked himself off the ground and swiped his hands futilely over his soiled uniform. "Because I'm sure he's thinking of helping Marcoh escape."
Ed's and Al's footsteps pounded down the side streets of Central. Turning into a narrow alley between two buildings, they drew in on Dr. Marcoh. "Marcoh," Ed called, "we don't want to take your research or anything away from you."
Dr. Marcoh bent at the waist and braced his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh pants. "No. I can't go..."
Ed opened his mouth to respond, but the words never left his mouth. Gunshots rang out. A shadow fell over him as a person jumped down into the alleyway. Scar narrowed his eyes at the blond boy then turned and strode towards the still panting doctor. Al reached out and grasped the man's left upper arm.
Scar glanced up at the armor in annoyance. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand over the wrist that held him back. Al gasped, unable to free himself from the man's iron grip. "Now this time I know you're just a hollow suit of armor." The horror in Al's eyes was blinded by the red light that rippled in the air.
Ed helplessly watched as in a loud explosion, Al's right side shattered and metal shards went flying. Al crashed to the ground in a heap.
"Al!" A red haze blurred Ed's vision as he ran up to the man and attacked him with a series of kicks and punches. The taller man easily dodged the boy's impassioned blows. He caught Ed's right wrist in his hand. The stupidity and rashness of his actions dawned on Ed. His throat went dry as he helplessly eyed the wrist that held him immobile.
Scar ran his red eyes down the auto-mail and placed his right hand on the boy's forearm. Ed was paralyzed with fear. His mind was completely blank. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in the base of his throat. The hiss of the rain faded from his conscious.
"By putting your hands together, you create a circle with your arms that circulates the power. You can't do it without this annoying arm. So I will destroy it." Red light lit up the tattoo and danced its way down Ed's arm. The force of the explosion threw Ed backwards, scattering steel parts of the complex limb all over the alley.
Al lifted himself up on his arms. Starting from his armpit, his entire right side was gone, leaving a ragged edge down his torso. "Niisan!" He shouted the warning as the alchemist murderer walked past him to where his brother lay. "Niisan, run away! Niisan!"
Ed struggled to his knees. His hair fell into his eyes and he grasped his metal right shoulder with his left hand as if trying to stem a flow of blood. With measured strides, Scar walked over to the fallen teenager and looked down dispassionately at the blond head. "I will give you time to pray to God."
Ed's finger's tightened on his shoulder, the metal grooves digging into the pads of his fingers. "I stopped believing in God a long time ago." He studied the dirty ground. Ed absently noted that it looked like the one in the alleyway where they had found Nina murdered. "You said your older brother died in Ishbal, right?"
"He was killed by a State Alchemist."
"I'm an older brother, too. Kill me. That would satisfy the equivalent trade." Ed lifted his face to his would-be executioner and looked straight into the red eyes.
"What are you talking about, Niisan!" Al screamed. "You said so yourself that revenge isn't equivalent trade!"
Ed's eyes went to his brother. "He's not a State Alchemist! I alone should be enough."
Scar paused, considering. "If I kill you, I promise not to harm your younger brother. But you are wrong, Fullmetal Alchemist. The despair I went through when I lost my brother and my people cannot be satisfied with any kind of equivalent trade."
Golden eyes burned into Scar's red ones. "Then why do you seek revenge?"
Scar lowered his hand to the boy's head.
"Niisan, what are you doing? Run!" Al's voice was hoarse with unshed tears and emotion that logically, he shouldn't have. "Stand up and run! Run!" With only one leg and his questionably stable arms, he would never be able to propel himself the ten feet to where his brother was.
Ed didn't move from where he kneeled. His gold eyes were steady on Scar's, his jaw set with determination, his fate chosen. He didn't flinch as the large hand settled on his head.
"No!" Al's voice broke. Metal shards from his shattered torso fell to the ground with the force of Al's vehemence. Unable to watch, he bent his head to the ground, the raindrops beginning to fall splattering on the ground taking the place of tears he couldn't shed. Al fisted one metal hand, clenching until he thought the metal would shatter. "Don't," he whispered agonizingly.
Suddenly, the intricate tattoo lit up a bright red. Scar froze, his arm immobilized with pain as the black lines and circles burned. He spun around. Dripping with rain water, the Crystal Alchemist stood in the middle of the alley, a red stone extended in front of him between shaking hands.
"You idiot!" Ed yelled at the older alchemist. "You were supposed to run!"
Marcoh haltingly took a step forward. He didn't take his eyes off of the glowing arm. "I'm sorry, Edward. I've seen that design before, a long time ago, in a book in Ishbal," he said. "This isn't complete, but it's still the Philosopher's Stone. After all, that design is—"
"Don't say it!" The words ripped through the air. Scar took a step towards the Crystal Alchemist.
Marcoh hurled the stone at the Ishbalite. It sailed through the air and hit Scar's outreached palm. A strangled sound of pain tore from the man's throat as the stone was absorbed into his hand. Ed watched in awe as the tattoo burned an even brighter red.
The glow quickly faded. Scar gripped his arm and glared at the alley's occupants then turned and ran. He emerged from the alley and was greeted with a semi-circle of cocked rifles. Hawkeye stood in the middle, her gun trained on the Ishbalite. Mustang stood behind her. Scar growled and slammed his right hand to the street. Red sparks radiated from his palm and crumbled the ground around him in a twenty foot radius. Taken aback, the soldiers hastily backed up.
Second Lieutenant Havoc knelt at the edge of the rubble. "Looks like he went into the sewers."
Mustang strode up beside him. "Don't follow him."
"I won't," Havoc reassured him, the corners of his lips kicked up around his cigarette. No way was he going down there with that guy.
Boots clomped on the ground and came to a halt near Mustang's group. "Hey," Hughes greeted with a grin. "Are you done?"
Roy scowled at his friend. "If you were here, you should have backed us up," he fumed.
Hughes pouted. "Shut up. Don't get normal people like me involved in your talent show of weirdos."
Sergeant Major Fuery stood flabbergasted in front of a shattered and obviously hollow Al. Only Al's head, half of his torso, arms and left leg were still intact. Barely. "Lieutenant, get rid of the human traffic," Mustang ordered softly to Hawkeye.
"Yes, sir."
With his one arm, Ed crawled over to his brother. He flung his wet hair out of his eyes. "Al, are you okay?" he asked anxiously.
Al clenched his fist and planted a solid punch on Ed's left jaw. "You idiot!"
Ed reeled from the blow. He blinked a few times to clear his spinning vision. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded angrily.
"Why didn't you run?"
"You would have been killed!" Ed exclaimed.
"That's not a good enough reason to choose death, stupid."
"Don't call your older brother stupid!" Ed's concern gave way to anger. Surprise flickered over his face as Al's right fist closed over the front of his red cloak, yanking him closer.
"I'll tell you as many times as needed," Al retorted heatedly. "Live. You have to live. We have to survive and keep researching alchemy so we can return to our natural bodies." Al's white eyes burned with fire. "Something like dying…I won't allow you to do it alone!"
Ed had the grace to look chagrined. Then the hand holding him by the collar fell limp and the whole arm clattered to the ground. "Look," Al stormed. "Now my arm fell off, stupid." Upset at his stubborn brother and his inability to have saved him, Al futilely swung his other arm at his brother.
Ed looked down and his lips curved upwards in a wry smile. "Look at us. We're all bust up. Totally uncool."
Al calmed down, returning to his rational self. "But we're still alive," he added softly.
"Yeah, we're alive."
Major Armstrong stood with Mustang at the mouth of the alley. "I've never heard of a soul transmutation," he breathed, noting what was left of the hollow armor.
Mustang gazed at the two battle-worn brothers. So young, yet they had gone through so much. Much more than any adult could have ever imagined. "He must have been very desperate to attempt it," he replied. "That's probably why the bond between those brothers is so strong." Filial loyalty was one thing, but what bound those two brothers together was much stronger than mere blood and DNA.
Hawkeye's brisk footsteps stopped right behind the Colonel. "Colonel," she whispered, "the Fuhrer's secretary."
"The Fuhrer's secretary?" he repeated, his surprise evident in his voice.
A pale, slender woman stepped out of black sedan. She smoothed her gray suit. A soldier held an umbrella over her, shielding her from the rain. Hawkeye and Mustang saluted. "We will take care of Dr. Marcoh," she relayed the Fuhrer's message in soft, cultured tones.
Mustang clenched his jaw. Guilt assailed him for betraying the man who had shown him a glimmer of sanity during the war's bloody and senseless chaos.
Marcoh began walking forward, resigned to his fate. "No," Ed cried.
Marcoh paused next to the brothers. "Edward Elric, I cannot go to your hometown," he said stiffly, not looking down at the bewildered teenager or the questioning eyes of his brother. Rain trickled off the ends of his salt and pepper hair and his eyelashes. "The names of the doctors were Rockbell."
Ed's eyes widened and he hunched over, letting the rain pelt him. Mustang clenched his jaw tighter against the new wave of guilt and shame that swept over him. Marcoh resumed walking and got into the car, followed by the secretary. "Do not worry, we will not harm him," she said before she also stepped in and closed the door.
Al watched him go. "Niisan, I thought I just heard Mom's voice."
Ed didn't look up from his hunched over position. "Idiot, you're probably just hearing things since you almost died," he mumbled.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated! This is one of my favorite episodes. I had the most fun writing the scene with Roy and Riza in the rain.