Dib07: Urm, what am I doing here? I do not know, except that beloved readers and reviewers have called this story back to my attention, and I apologize that I left it as late as I have, the story has one last 'old' chapter on my old computer, and well, it won't be up to my usual standards, but it's something, and well, here's this chapter anyway!

I really want to thank CallMeWaffle and One-Step-Only for encouraging me to go back to this and update. I really appreciate it, and I thank you for your patience! If you hadn't reviewed, and hadn't let me know how much you're enjoying this, this story would remain, uh, well, forgotten! (and maybe that was best lol)


Mercy

"Damn car!"

The headlights beamed abrasively onto the rain beyond, creating a wind-tunnel of yellow under the motion of the headlights. Droplets scattered sideways across the windshield. Even in the car, out of the wind and rain, it was freezing.

Roy thrust the wheel to a hard right as if he was steering some unwieldy animal.

"Come on! Come on!"

The memories were a burden, spilling out of the dark he tried to wall himself away from.

"I already told you, kid, you are not going after them! Repeating myself is an offense, you know that. Yet here I am, repeating myself." Roy fixed his eyes on his stubborn, rebellious insubordinate.

"Then I suggest you stand there and watch me clean up your mess!" Edward ran after them, clapped his hands together and touched the concrete. The ground rose up like a grey tide of water, and settled over the renegades, freezing them in place with thickening asphalt. They managed to turn with their heads and stare at their adversary as Ed rose from the floor he had deconstructed, laughing with his hands on his hips. He was a flash of red coat, always running ahead of them, ahead of Roy.

'Call me weak, Mustang!' The fire in his eyes said whenever he turned towards him with that flippant but guarded smile.

The house was a dark, looming presence in the black of midnight. Roy didn't even bother closing his car door as he hurried across the gravel with a lantern in one hand. His heart was running hard and fast in his chest, cold sweat beading his forehead. The rain and wind did nothing to ease the fever.

A dog was barking somewhere in the neighbourhood.

Roy stumbled up the porch.

The door he had kicked open earlier that day had been nailed shut again by the authorities to keep out the prying homeless and the squatters. He did another good turn and kicked it open like before with barely a grunt.

The door cracked, shuddering inwards with a rattling squeal.

Clicking his fingers, a flame danced on their tips, illuminating the way ahead. The light spread along the grey, peeling walls of dirt, unmentionable stains and exposed patches of drywall. His own light made everything else look surreal, queasy and disjointed as if he was simply witnessing another dream in his head.

"Edward! Are you here?" His cries; loud, and slightly drunk, permeated the unwelcome and thickening silence.

There were creaks and thunks in answer, the old house seemingly protested with each quickening footfall. He jumped and turned around, convinced someone had come up behind him, and when his lantern and dancing flames caught nothing but his own sweeping shadows, he realized his mistake of coming alone.

As much as he appreciated Riza's company, she was beginning to look at him as one might look at a drunk clinging to the margins. She would come, no matter the hour if he called her, but he also knew she'd look at him as if he was losing his mental health.

"Who's there?" He swept the lantern through the darkness, revisiting rooms he had already examined with a careless eye.

When a picture frame fell from a shelf in the parlour, he struggled to check himself in time before he ignited the whole room with one snap.

"You're holding sand." Edward was whispering in his ear, or in his head. When Roy was especially drunk, and in that regard delirious, he often recalled the shrimp's past remarks out of nowhere. "You can't control everything, though you'll try. But in the end, it'll slip away."

Roy searched up and down the wall, looking for any tell-tale signs of an entrance. When his anger and impatience devoured what little was left of his self-control, he started to kick at any bit of wall that looked even a tiny bit suspicious. There has to be something! Anything! Please, oh please let there be something!

His foot broke through the wall. The plaster and backboard caved in, and he was digging through it with his hands. When next he looked around, hearing a distant clatter followed by the distant barks of that dog, there was no one else in the room.

Chunks of backboard fell away, and soon he was covered in dust.

There was a cupboard inside. It smelt of blood.

Once enough plaster was stripped away, he it threw open, sneezing from the dust.

Along the back of the cupboard were levers and buttons. It was more than possible there was a far simpler and less destructive way of getting to them, they looked used, some of the buttons were dented, the hard grain of the metal having worn down around the edges. Regardless he started hitting them, hearing something clank and judder beneath him in reply. As he hit them, in no order, only where rage placed his hands, he thought of Lord Mercy's ugly smile, and the twinkle in his eye.

When there was no more clanking and shuddering, he turned and hurried down the stairs to the basement where Havoc and Riza had overlooked the dusty corners where old bedrolls had been left lying all over the place.

Something had opened from beneath. The buttons had commanded a secret pulley system: something he had missed.

An opening had yawned outwards, the rumpled carpet and several stained bedrolls having been shrugged aside.

He stood staring, hearing nothing save his own ragged breathing and the raging thunder in his ears.

He lifted the lantern, the flame dancing dangerously on shaky fingertips that had been steady a moment ago.

For a clear, lucid moment the logical part of his brain told him to go back up top, call for backup, and wait.

You don't know what's down there!

It could just be a dusty old wine cellar.

Or it could be their little private club house where they store all the crystals before shipping them off.

The rage was climbing. It had steered him through danger, through scenarios where most would not tread. Countless times, Edward had shown that same tenacity, and stupidity. You could not teach the young everything, they had to discover it for themselves.

Trying to force back the nausea, he hovered his lantern around the small cubbyhole; coaxing things out of the shadows. His feet were already moving, his hand held out before him, twin embers flicking in the ebony of his eyes.

The stairs that led down felt more like sticks about to break under his weight. They creaked and cracked like old bones.

The stairs continued downwards, his flame and lantern light splashing across metal walls. The air was lofty and cold, his flame guttering. He was in a big space, bigger than what the house above had suggested. Again there was that moment where he knew he should head back up, and call for Riza, fuck the hour, but again he hesitated, continuing until he hit the metal floor. He felt like he was in the middle of a great room. He turned round suspiciously, anxious someone would sneak up behind from the darkness. He was now less keen on calling for Edward, aware of the noise he'd make, but his anguish stretched him thin, and he stopped caring if someone else would hear, he'd deal with them, he'd scar the walls with their remains.

"Fullmetal! Edward!"

Bars of metal hung out at him from the dark in ghostly intervals as his light revealed the world in stages. He thought it was some kind of prison, something worked into the basement or ground floor before he soon realized it was something else. Old metal bins from another age glimmered in his lantern light, the corridor went on, and before him rooms opened up, with the stencilled letters I.C WARD printed in the old stone.

It's a hospital...

His mind couldn't quite grasp it.

Black windows, many broken, stared straight into the dirt of the earth. Fetid water had run down the walls, and now fungus grew in the dark and damp places.

There were dusty old blankets, clothing, and manacles that had been left in and around the ward. Worst of all was what he found lying against the far wall.

It possessed a dull, reddish glow, and lay dormant like something that had been killed.

It was Edward Elric's red coat.

He drew back, trembling.

Among the red coat were military jackets, some with the mark of colonel and lieutenant. He reached forwards to pick through them for anything else worth finding, like his pocket watch...

He inspected the clothing with wild eyes. The blue jacket, dusty and a little sodden from the damp, was small enough to fit a teenager. On the inside label, scrawled in faded ink, were the initials E.E.

He felt a shadow fall over him as his flame twinkled ahead.

There was movement. He tensed, ready, the flame gushing upwards, when rats scarpered by from another room.

The silence was strange here. He could distinctly hear the cars passing through the ceiling and walls of the city above, but there was little here other than the scurry of rats.

"What the hell is this place?"

Ed's been here!

Leave the coat and the jackets! I'll pull this place apart when I get back up top! I'll turn it inside out! Nothing will escape me!

He came to black double doors of the ward. They were closed, with an iron latch barring him from the inside.

It didn't take much. Extinguishing the flame in case he accidently set something ablaze, he put his shoulder to the old door after backing away to give himself room. When he slammed into the door, shoulder first, the door snapped open like dry tinder.

He looked up and around, flexing his hand, shadows darkening under his eyes. He was contained thunder.

The mere thought of Edward being trapped down here sent him reeling over the edge. He wanted to lose it, and kill that man – that Lord Mercy – who knew all along.

But why would a man like Lord Mercy, who was only interested in profit and misery, target Fullmetal, if he had?

The fog in his eyes and heart wouldn't clear.

A rat was staring at him from across the dusty, water stained hallway. He stamped forwards, and the thing went skating across the cracked linoleum to get away.

There was a placard, covered in filth and dust. He rose a hand and scrubbed off some of the grease to reveal the letters MERCY HOSPITAL – X-RAY DEPARTMENT.

He suddenly didn't want to keep going. A hand was pulling him back, the dread mounting with every forward step.

There was that telltale smell of something dead and rotting, the buttery stink of maggots and blood. He put a sleeve to his nose and mouth as he shifted forward, the lantern swinging to and fro like a pendulum.

Please God let me get through this...

He was aware that he had not slept properly since Edward's disappearance. He was not sure if he was even fit for duty. Yet his men still followed him unquestionably.

There was a distinct smell of rotten leaves, stagnant water and diesel fumes. He amounted it all to decay.

The main lobby was pilfered with puddles from the leaks above. The main offices, looming out of the dark, may still have been operable. Old paperwork lay in puddles, or were stuffed untidily into crooked drawers and filing cabinets where birds or rats had made their nests. He grabbed what was still somewhat legible and stuffed them into his coat pocket for the investigation team to go over later.

Roy continued through the rooms, hearing each step creak or split under his weight.

Finding a body was still closure, even if it wasn't the closure he wanted.

The walls, once white in their prime, were a sickly grey that extended all the way to the ceiling, and in some parts they had cracked to reveal holes.

"Fullmetal? Are you down here?"

He heard a pigeon flap its clumsy wings from the rafters above. Everywhere was dark, or tarnished brown. Spiders crawled over metal food tins and rusty bedpans. Old bed frames, black with rust, stood dejected in corners.

How could a place this big remain hidden?

Did this Mercy character manage to sink a whole hospital into the ground? Or did he just build on top of it?

He ducked under a low, broken beam that had come loose from the ceiling, wafting away cobwebs from his face with his free hand.

The floor suddenly cracked under Roy's foot and he almost tripped over.

Old alchemic circles started to decorate the older sections of hallway, and unlit gas lamps dotted the dirty walls. Parts of the floor even looked well used, with muddy boot prints and leaves.

Roy started opening doors along the corridors, a gun held out in front of him. He wasn't sure what resistance he was expecting. So far the only menace were the big grey rats that scuttled across the floorboards and down holes in the floor boards.

So far the rooms proved abandoned, though it did not explain the gas lights and the manner of the boot prints on the floor.

The rooms were consistent in design and pattern. And they were also small and cramped. Many had regular beds against each wall. Then there were rooms that housed only a singular bed, surrounded by alien equipment and tools Roy had never seen before.

He looked over them with concern. I think someone is using this facility.

Lord Mercy had been full of shit after all.

Roy walked down a few corridors that turned left, others right, until he was well and truly lost.

"Shit!" He growled pensively. I have no idea where this forsaken place goes!

He breathed deep several times. A sense of calm glided over his rage, and though it was very thin, it was enough to get him walking forwards.

He was in a patient's room.

Illuminated by the comforting glow of his lantern, there was something in the bed, covered by grimy sheets.

Roy stood there, his heart twisting.

Just do it.

He grabbed the sheet and pulled.

The corpse was curled up on its side, mouth standing open. The silver strands of hair suggested that the person may have been around seventy years old, perhaps older. The skin was yellow, and shined like glass under the light.

Oh god!

He took a tentative step back when he heard what sounded like wheels squeaking along the floor. He sharply spun round, gun pointing at a wheelchair in a corner of the room.

Get a grip.

He lowered the gun, feeling foolish. He had never jumped at shadows before.

A door stood before him. When he went to open it, chilly, shaking hands landing on the solid and equally cold curve of metal, he knew before he felt the resistance that it would be locked.

He squeezed the trigger and the sudden explosion of noise filled his ears. The bolt in the lock snapped, and the handle fell out and onto the hard stone of the floor. He kicked the door open, the gun preceding him.

The room wasn't very big, and was about the same size as his office back in Central. The floor, walls and ceiling were splayed black in huge, complicated alchemic circle arrays of red and black. In the very centre, sitting erect was a creature. But it was no chimera, at least, not one he had ever seen. It was facing towards the door, and as soon as he had taken one foot inside, its head launched upwards and set bright red eyes on him.

When it slowly stood up, the chains on its wrists and ankles rustled.

Roy could only stare. It didn't matter if the creature was less than three feet tall and chained. He pointed the gun at its chest, knowing it had to have a heart in there, no matter what it was and what it could do.

"What the fuck?"

Seeing things! I am seeing things! I knew the drink would do this to me!

Two oxygen tanks, looking about as old as everything else lay where they had fallen. On the only metal table in the far corner were hypodermic needles and a basin scummy with black water.

The thing stared with those bright blood stones for eyes. It had no fur, and no tail to speak of, and its skin was milky. Little cat-like claws shone on its hands and feet.

Roy stood at the threshold, swallowing thickly, gun raised.

"Well, aren't you going to use it?" The creature then cocked its head at him, its speech perfectly intelligible.

"Wh-what?" It was all he could choke out.

Shoot it! It's one of those freakish abominations those wacko-alchemists like to try when they have moments of insanity!

"I said, aren't you going to use it?" It nodded again at the gun, as if it was perfectly aware of what a gun was, and what a gun did.

Is it a crime? To kill a talking abomination?

"Hey. Are you Roy?"

He snapped forwards, lantern smacking the side of its smooth head. It fell, hard, and when those teeth appeared, stretching across its face in a Cheshire cat way, Roy barely flinched. "How do you know me? You fucking... thing!"

"Get off...!" Claws sprang for his arm, little needle points easily slicing through the thick, heavy material of his blue coat.

The Führer shakily planted the barrel of the gun on the thing's thin and narrow chest. "You tell me, right now, or your ribcage and everything in it will paint this cell of yours, you understand?"

That unnerving mouth full of teeth slowly began to smile. "I understand. This Ed told me. He's next door."

Its smile deepened as if it seemed to enjoy Roy's confusion, but it was a malicious, all-knowing smile.

Hell had conjured this beast, and taught it how to speak.

Roy stepped back, gun aimed on the creature in case it had other ideas. He wasn't sure how strong those chains were, but considering it had stayed here all this time, sitting on its own piss and faeces, he had a good feeling it wouldn't be able to do much of anything. But as Roy started to move away, it began to plead, its barking voice changing to higher, keener tones that was more shrill and childish. "You can't l-leave me here!"

"Sure I can, you ugly fuck."

There were no more locked rooms, just another partition that sectioned off the thing by a corridor and a little transparent curtain.

He approached warily. The smell of blood however was very distinctive. There was also another smell, one he knew better: the chemical by-product of alchemic reactions. Once an alchemic array was activated, it often produced an odour of ozone of ether almost. He could smell it now, as strong as cigarette smoke.

The material curtaining the room was too thick to see directly through, but he could make out a shadow on the other side: the shadow of a patient.

He had a mind to go back and call for his team. Roy looked at the curtain and reached out with a numb hand, taking up a cold, plastic sheet with trembling fingers.

He yanked back the plastic sheet.

Edward lay on a thin mattress hooked to a breathing apparatus, with various lines and leads running in and out of the grubby blanket they had lain over him.

Roy started to shout and scream, leaving the gun to clatter on the floor, the lantern light swinging wildly to and fro. "Fullmetal!" He shook his shoulder, "Edward!"