Doubt

Riza had not expected to see her superior officer racing up to meet her on the horizon. However, as soon as she saw his breathless face and tired expression, Riza knew that this wasn't a part of some absurd scheme Roy Mustang always ended up being at the heart of. She had situated herself on higher ground; otherwise she would have felt exposed, naked. In Turinene, the older town was home to the famous cobblestone market and fountain, although in the days of past Turinene had been the town with the ultimate defences. Around the town was a large city wall, the colour of red and cream, which had been fortified and added to over the years; the different types of stone were worn, like the shades of colour of sedimentary rock found at an exposed cliff face at the beach. Towering and imposing to outsiders, but protective to those cocooned inside by the city walls. Four towers guarded the city wall, each situated at one of the points of a compass, and the towers were named after their positon. She was standing at North Tower. If she had been sited at East Tower, she feared that their whereabouts would have been given away.

She had been staring at the town, where nothing out of the ordinary had been occurring. By this time, shops were beginning to close as merchants bid goodnight to their trade. Shopkeepers were also leaving for their homes to turn in for the night. A small part of Riza was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to tuck herself up in warm cotton sheets with Hayate asleep in his bed just behind her bedroom door. She would close her eyes, and for a quiet moment, she would reflect and let her mind cast a projection of the images of the people she had killed. The list became longer and longer.

However, she would never forget; she had no choice in the matter. It was her duty as the killer, as the one who landed the final blow to remember and honour the lives she had taken. They could have been kings or slaves, but she would remember each face. It was ironic how status lost all of its value when one was dead. After all, one life equated to one life in Death's eyes.

Hawkeye had developed this list after what Solf J. Kimblee had said: "Look straight at the people you kill. Don't take your eyes off them for a second. And don't ever forget them because I promise that they won't forget you."

Kimblee was at the forefront of her mind. This was the Kimblee who was a menace (both of them were), but the celebrated Crimson Alchemist was the one that was dominating her central thoughts. As Riza watched one of the merchants close around to wipe off the sweat from his brow, she saw a manic smile displaying euphoric joy. Kimblee. When one of the children running from his friend lifted his arms in mock surrender, she saw two transmutation circles, one on each hand, which with a single clap had the power to shatter the foundations of a mountain. Kimblee. She shook her head.

He was locked up in Central Prison. He wasn't here. Usually it was the ghosts of her victims that haunted her deservedly after what she had done to them. This time she was being haunted by someone who was still living; she couldn't shrug this feeling off as a simple nightmare. He was a mass murderer, and he was alive. Kimblee. She knew she was entering a panic attack like she had in the showers, but she was too resolute to stop or pause. She was never going to have a break until she knew that they had not been followed. And some part of her felt that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The feeling had not abated since rescuing the Elric brothers.

Her strong legs shook violently as involuntary spasms shot through them like needles. She gritted her teeth and focused her energy on scouting the place below, rifle in hand, waiting and waiting…and then she had been shocked by the sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs behind her. Her head was giddy. Without a moment's hesitation she turned around and fired, but her legs started to goddamn shake again and she missed her target by at least an inch (a large parameter for her) and now there would be no time for her to reload and make a counter attack because she would already be dead-

"Lieutenant!" a voice cried. The Colonel was standing at the entrance to the highest floor of North Tower, breathing heavily, and smoke was rising into his face. A bullet hole was gaping to the side of his left shoulder leaving an indentation in the brick wall, and the man had barely noticed the move. Hawkeye silenced her swirling fury of anxiety; her superior officer needed her, and she had to performing at her optimum to keep the sometimes useless Flame Alchemist safe. She didn't have the luxury of worrying if she wanted to keep him safe; like the Fullmetal Alchemist, Colonel Mustang was a magnet for trouble.

"Sir," she saluted, and awaited for further instruction. Roy took a moment to compose himself but locked behind his eyes was a layer of underlying fear which Riza knew she would not immediately be able to abate. She would be able to help him when she had something to do.

"I must find Fuery," the Colonel said, and trembling he moved back down the way he came, but by the time he came to the third stair, he groaned. The sinking feeling in Riza widened; how had she been this clueless? She had been worrying too much about a man locked up in prison to realize that one of her team members was missing. The Elric brothers were safe, but in exchange Fuery had been taken too. She willed her legs to move faster and she increased her pace rapidly, although she was delayed by a slow-moving Colonel.

He took a stair at the time, but by the time he got to the tenth stair, he was sweating profusely and swore under his breath: "damn useless fool…"

Riza then noticed that the Colonel's leg was splayed at an odd angle. She was not a doctor, but she had experience enough of wounds and medical care from the battlegrounds she had fought on to know that her Colonel had a fractured leg. She would not have been able to tell what the fracture was and where in the bone it was damaged, but she was aware of the medicinal basics. Like her superior officer, she disliked being useless, and if she possessed a rudimentary knowledge in some scientific fields, then she would be able to help…a little. Once, she would have been able to recite the types of fracture and bones in the body, but overtime she had forgotten as she had had more and more to worry about. However, she couldn't spare the time to dwell on hopelessness; there was just too much that needed to be done.

"Kimblee's doing, Sir?" Riza asked as she dropped to the ninth stair, one behind where the Colonel had paused, taking in deep and heavy breaths. The man nodded once and huffed, before hauling himself to his feet, but his face winced in pain as his eyes also squinted, like a child having a nightmare. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see the monsters lurking in front of him.

For a second, Riza thought that the man's effort of standing up would have been wasted, but she wouldn't have dedicated her life to following a pitiful soldier's cause. For Roy Mustang growled and stood up, raising his arm in a motion that indicated: proceed and follow me. Whether it was a verbal command or not, her superior officer had given her an order, and Riza Hawkeye was set to see it through despite whatever happened next.

She followed Mustang in silence, her sense of discretion lost; they had more important priorities to focus on. However, she didn't want to be like a shark amid a sea of fish; where she could remain discrete and unseen, she would opt for that. She would hint and point out routes of the town she knew would avoid the main market square, and the Colonel would take that route. He trusted her judgement, a bond that had been forged over many years.

While her attention remained focused on the pathways they wandered, a part of her mind floated back to the rest of the team. She knew that Mustang was experiencing the same thing in his head as well. The Elric brothers had been rescued, and they were alive. However, Edward's broken expression had broken her stoic heart a little too; this was not how it should have been. The children should not be the ones fighting the wars. Riza had been fighting since adulthood in order to protect the younger generation from harm, but fate could be a bastard when it came to appeasing the wishes of the people. They had been harmed more than Riza or the others had been, physically and psychologically. Edward had nearly died and that was something she had not thought possible. She was a realist, and knew that death was inevitable to every human being, but she had always assumed that Edward would find his body as he had Alphonse's, and the boys would travel or settle down or have children. They had the world in their palms and could do as they pleased. That was what Riza envisioned when the boys stepped foot out of the office to pursue another lead. She looked into the immediate future; she would rather envision the paradise that she was working towards. When Roy became Fuhrer, he had to keep his promises of protecting the younger generation, or unfortunately, Riza would have to shoot him.

The future she saw for Fuery was him establishing his own radio network. However, he was never one for the centre stage, and therefore, he would open a small shop in the city selling various gadgets. Or he would travel to various historic sites of interest with Falman, who he was very close to. At celebrations and gatherings, he would always make an appearance because he loved the people he was close to. His path was not to remain in the military forever. He had a gentle heart and inquisitive mind, and like the Elric brothers, he deserved more from the world. But nothing was ever given for free. Equivalent Exchange was once again the interfering force.

Turinene town members paid little attention to them. As it was a town on the main trading route, it was often a place for military soldiers to refresh and recuperate before re-joining the road. Therefore, the sight of two soldiers wandering through the streets as evening approached did not cause the two of them too many problems. However Riza ensured that Roy disguised his insignia that was emblazoned on his marine uniform. A Lieutenant wandering the streets near nightfall might have raised an eyebrow or two, but a Colonel would have been a larger deal. Mustang was an officer, and he had to be careful. Many people had seen his face today, and as he was a wanted military target to many outlaws, the more discrete she could be the better for them all.

However, the Colonel was now proving to be as reckless as his short, blond subordinate; they were heading straight back to the entrance of the tunnels. The tunnels had been deserted once Roy had left them the last time, and the reason for that was still eluding her. As a military strategist, she could understand that evacuating the tunnel would protect it from a storm of soldiers coming to invade the premises. But the other prison cells had also been recently abandoned, leaving only Edward and Alphonse together in the facility. What had been the purpose behind this move? Riza could speculate, but it was likely she would never find out the other Kimblee's intentions; it would never be an easy feat to reason with a madman. She wondered if he wanted the Elric brothers to be found. But why would he then decide to do that?

Roy was the best in the team for plotting and scheming with his ally, Hughes. Riza could understand snippets of his reasoning, and she was often the one in the team to best guise what was going on. Getting into Roy Mustang's head was one thing, but trying to understand the enigma you found was confounding and something completely different. He liked to be well-known, but he also could remain mysterious. He could be charming, but he could be deadly. Most humans were confusing creatures, but the Flame Alchemist was a contradiction.

However, Hawkeye was not by Roy's side just because of her ability to shoot and because she had pledged her life into his service for the promise…hope for a better world.

She would hope. The monsters would never go away, but she could hope that children could be spared from being butchered like pigs and men massacred by their sons. There had to be some who protected the weak; if they were called heroes or warriors, she didn't care. She would do her part.

Roy was evidently limping by this point. She held her rifle more tightly, gripping at the weapon so hardly that it began to hurt her fingers.

They had reached the tunnels, but she had already journeyed through a labyrinth in her mind. It was a deep and dark place, like a giant piece of fabric composed of intricate designs of needlework. There were twists and turns and dead ends. It was a complicated place and feeling she had in her heart.

Her priority was finding Fuery and protecting the other members of the team.

However, the entrance was blocked. It was hard to see in the darkened streets from where the Sun's light was no longer shining through, blocked by the bricks. She stopped and watched as the Colonel ignited a small flame that trembled at his fingertips. He surveyed the space, and there was no longer a booby trap. What remained was a flattened hump of land. She couldn't see anything else.

"Transmutation marks," Roy muttered, and then he cursed loudly, "an alchemist blocked the tunnels, and a powerful one at that."

"There must be other entrances…" Riza said through gritted teeth.

Roy swore again. He was in pain and it was getting dark. He had to get his leg seen to before they could pursue with the search for Fuery. However as the commanding officer, he had many ties and people needing him for different reasons. The Elric brothers needed him. Fuery needed him. His team in Central needed him. And those members in Turinene.

It was a burden she couldn't understand.

"I'm so useless, Hawkeye," Roy stated glumly but not defeated. Never defeated.

"One step at a time, Sir."

And they did.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It sounded like the dripping of water from the ceiling of his prison cell which would fill up until he was swimming and he would end up drowning without an escape. That was the last thing he remembered: falling. Corpses had sentenced him to a living hell, and that was the promise he had to live with for the rest of his eternity. It was only fair since that he was treated like he was dirt after he had killed so many people. God didn't have the time for murderers like him.

And now he would remain in this prison cell – his home – below the streets of Turinene forever. It was the least that he deserved.

-Where has that fighting spirit gone, shrimp?-

…

-Oh, you no longer care if you're called short? How pathetic this is…but interesting…I thought it would take more to break you. Funny what a few images and negative stimulation in the brain can do. It can wreck an individual.-

But I'm nobody…leave me alone.

-Your name is Edward Elric is it not? Older brother, alchemist, Fullmetal, so many impressive titles, I do not know where to start…-

You do. There is no start.

-But is there an end, my friend?-

I will never be your friend. Even you are above me.

-Will there ever be an end for you? And can it be a happy ending?-

I don't deserve that.

-Remember them well. More sorrow will come future in your life. How will you protect the others if you do not believe in your own abilities?-

Go away, bastard.

-You wish to escape, do you? Good luck.-

Edward had had enough. He was sick to the stomach of the shadows and menaces that spoke to him in his head, but his Shadow was the worst by far. When he was dreaming, he would be plagued and haunted by the corpses and ghosts of those he had killed, although during his waking hours his head was his worst enemy. No amount of reason or logic could dispel the ice-like voice that spoke to him, discordant and malignant. He wanted for them to go away. He wanted to be left alone in peace. If he was going to die, didn't he have the right to do so in a dignified manner?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

That was the sound of the running water once again. The noise was continuous and steady, and reminded him that he was awake. It was hard to tell after being trapped in the dark for so long. He would continue to live down here in his piss-filled prison cell, but at least there was one thing that could distract him. Luckily Alphonse had been taken away. He didn't deserve the rotting shell of a person he was?

Saying that Edward Elric was the older, stronger brother who protected his family and friends was utter bullshit.

He had become used to the mental anguish as he had to the physical pain. Soon he would learn to live with his impending isolation too. However, even now he could hear the damn voices and he wished that they would shut up. He didn't want to have these retched hallucinations. He just needed to wait for this damn infection to take him and then it would be over, at least until the vicious cycle of life repeated itself once again.

-I will be your friend, Edward.-

Never…

-I am you, and as the mind is a person's greatest asset, or as you once boasted, can it also become their greatest enemy. Watch out.-

They warred in this childish, petty way for hours while Edward was conscious, and today, his Shadow was in a particularly feisty mood. Edward was how he usually was: apathetic and very, very tired. The nightmares drained so much energy out of him that when he awakened to the world of the living, his first thought was of curling off to sleep and entering the world of dreams. The familiar drip drip drip kept sounding, but over the top, Edward could hear a vaguely familiar voice as well as a voice he did not know too well.

A deep, friendly familiar voice spoke: "the anaesthetic must be wearing off soon. His movements have been a lot more violent over the past hour. You've got to do something!" The voice sounded frustrated towards the end, and partially desperate. The only voice that was relatively friendly in the basement belonged to Kimblee, so that must have been who was speaking now.

The stranger's voice sounded oddly melodic, and was higher pitched, but less warm than that of the first speaker: "it would not be best to interfere anymore with his IV. If he is pulled too rapidly out of his state of unconsciousness, it will be harder for him to regain lucidity-"

"Shit! Come on, Armstrong. We're grateful for your hospitality and protection, but I made a promise to a friend, alright? I've got to get in there and see him…"

The owner of the second voice sighed heavily, "very well. No changes to his anaesthesia though."

A gasp of relief: "thank you, Miss Armstrong."

The door opened. Oh God someone was coming for him. They were going to take him back to the room of enlightenment and they would crush him to pieces as Kimblee fired an alchemic voltage through his veins, which was more potent than any poison. He hated hated hated it. The thought of alchemy was the one thing that repulsed him; it was also the one thought that could keep him from being the emotionless husk that he had become.

Raw fear was paramount in his head. Parts of him screamed to flee. But with his infection and broken, mangled body escape was not an option. Furthermore, they knew the tunnels and he didn't. He would just be dragged back and the cycle would start again. It appeared that everything in this universe could be described by circles and theorems just like goddamn alchemy, a closed system.

Or he could try and cower so much that he vanished into the wall. He could become a shadow himself; he was short and skinny enough. Some twisted part of his imagination spurred horrific images of his body contorting in more ways, as though he was a shapeshifter, so that he fit in a box that he could close. He would rather have that than by subject to alchemic voltage. Anything but that.

Footsteps. Drip. Drip. Drip.

His brain was heavy, and he found he couldn't move his limbs. He could only think and Ed thought that his heart would explode with the effort and strain that it was under. However, it had already survived through so much. That was a funny thought: he had survived. But saying that he had thrived was a different concept entirely. Insects survived.

He winced and pushed himself back against the mildew wall and hoped that the damp would consume him and damn take him far away from this place. He waited…but the pressure he felt on his back was strange. It wasn't hard or soaked with moisture.

It was soft.

In his mind's eye he journeyed into a memory from the past. This memory was very recent however: a sleepy Alphonse had been taking part in rehabilitation all day for his atrophied state. He had walked without using his crutches for the first time, which had merited some form of reward. Edward's answer to his conundrum had been food. Food was the best way to celebrate, so long as the meal did not contain "milk" on its menu. Al had tucked into his three course dinner happily, and when they had stumbled, bloated and content, to their lodgings, Al had collapsed onto the first bed he could find (which was actually the sofa). He had exclaimed that it was "so soft" and started snoring before he could have finished his sentence. Determined Al had looked so gentle and delicate while he slept. Ed had rolled his eyes and stuffed a pillow for Al – the lazy ass. But he had mussed with his brother's hair all the same.

The memory was disgusting. What right did he possess to recall these memories? They were of happier times…God Al deserved so much more…

Edward then truly woke up. He realized why the material felt different, and didn't smell of rotting flesh or infection. The place where he was smelt clean, and sterile, as though he was in a hospital (another one of the places he detested to be the most) but the scent of homeliness surrounded him next. It was the comforting aroma of perfumes and candles burning until there was no wax left; it was the cotton essence of laundry; the scent of fresh air billowing through the windows, and the smell of cut grass. Something in Edward stirred for a second, like a small beacon of hope and the fear for one small, miniscule moment subsided into a faint murmur. For a second he thought that everything would be alright and he could forget about the arduous weeks he had endured. Survived.

It was the most beautiful time he could remember.

However, the sound of the footsteps and a strained voice trying to be reassuring near his face caught him tightly in the throat. His neck muscles constricted so he could no longer breathe in that sweet sweet air. And in that second the voices returned full-force, hitting him in the stomach with its malignant stampede of crushing thoughts:

-You thought it was over, that easily?-

-You thought you could wake up back home in Resembool and pretend that this was all a bad dream?-

-Why would you waste your energy on hoping? Surely you should be thinking of a way to escape.-

-Pathetic weak little boy.-

-Out of anyone I had to be trapped with, why did it have to be you?-

-Pointless…-

"Shut up!" Edward screamed, lashing out with his arm to the side. He could feel his fist collide with something warm and he screamed again and clutched his arm close to his chest. No Kimblee was not going to take him or use him again he wouldn't allow it too many times. Just for once no more-

"Ed, come on, buddy. Stay with me," the soothing masculine voice spoke. Most of the time it must have been quite jokey and amusing, due to the higher pitch the voice possessed. Edward focused on each note and syllable, enunciating the words spoken selectively and carefully. This didn't sound like Kimblee.

"You've got to stop struggling, or you'll hurt yourself, okay Ed? You need to be careful, and take it slowly. Breathe slowly…" the voice murmured, and Edward found that the grip of his left arm against the bedsheet held closely to his chest loosened slightly. A bedsheet? He couldn't remember the last time he had slept on a bed, let alone the last time he had slept fitfully on a bed. He could remember sleeping on trains and Al and in sewers and in basements dripping with piss-

"Go away!" Edward yelled, frothing at the mouth. He was prepared to bite his enemy if necessary. There was no way that Kimblee was going to get hold of him again. The only thing that kept him fighting was because of his fear of the alchemic voltage. Because that was pain. Hadn't he experienced enough pain already?

"No, I can't do that. I promised another reckless ass I would look after you," the voice chuckled weakly.

The sadness in his voice was something that did not belong to Kimblee. Edward shifted, feeling that he now possessed the ability to move again, and struggled to open his eyes. The dark world was so lonely. It was gigantic too. He didn't know if he was locked in a claustrophobic basement with instruments of torture yet to be implemented surrounding him. Kimblee could be breathing into his face for all he knew.

He could be in a huge room, larger than a void, waiting to swallow him whole, like the dirt and serpents with red eyes from his dreams. The room could be lined with machines each experimenting at extracting his energy using the alchemic voltage for different parts of his body. The room could be enormous enough to give room to spectators watching him suffer for entertainment. Edward knew that if it could escape the confines of his head, his Shadow would be the audience member cheering on Kimblee the loudest.

Dizzying colour surrounded him, overpowering and threatening to make him retch. The world in his vision was like a watercolour painting, with all the colours muddled and confused in a chaotic brand of exotic hues. He didn't know where he was and what was happening. He blinked again, determined to put some order and stability into his field of vision, but his remaining eye teared up even more. Sadly, he closed his eyes.

And the universe became that bit bigger.

"W-who are you?" Edward asked. And he felt awful for asking who this person was. He sounded friendly enough and obviously cared about his wellbeing.

-Always be on your guard, remember what would happen when you fell asleep.-

…

-They came back for their 'sunshine'.-

"It's Maes Hughes, Ed. Lieutenant Colonel. I'm here with Colonel Mustang, First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Second Lieutenant Havoc and Sergeant Fuery," Hughes said. Edward knew Hughes, and recognised his voice, but how could he be sure…how would he be able to know that he could trust the man who was claiming to be someone? He could have been anyone…

"You're safe, Edward," and there was such sincerity in those words that Edward automatically believed him. He remembered Mustang and the promise that he would be safe and he would also be taken home. He wasn't in the basement. He sighed, and buried himself deeper into the covers.

"Can I t-trust you?" Edward tried saying steadily, but his voice quivered like a violin; he was so damn weak.

Hughes didn't hesitate, "when have you not been able to trust me, Ed?"

Edward couldn't answer, and he didn't make a retort either. He stared at where Hughes' voice came from and nodded once. This was true. If this was true, then he had been able to trust Hughes until now. He had no reason to mistrust this man.

He welcomed you into his home dammit! And this is how you are repaying your rescuer? A voice cried in his mind, the resilient memory of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

-Such a weakling. What will you do next, begin to cry?-

"Your brother is safe as well," Hughes broached and his reaction must have been a surprise when Edward proceeded to hiss and growl at the man like a feral cat. He didn't want to be near Al. And Al was here too?

-Doesn't he deserve happiness? Isn't this what you prayed for when you were locked in the dungeon, with voltage being poured through your very soul?-

He curled his fingers into a fist, "Get him away!"

However, as he bent his arm, he felt it for the first time. A gut wrenching pull and fear in his gut caused butterflies to tumble around in his stomach and his pulse thrummed loudly. It was the only sound he could hear. He bent his arm again. That confirmed it. Needles.

One thing he hated besides alchemy and milk was needles.

"Where am I?" he spat viciously, and if he opened his cloudy eyes, he would have hurled a death gaze at Hughes.

However, Hughes did not reply. There was a fumbling at the doorway and an angry figure stormed into the bedroom, boots clomping against the hard floor like a horse's hooves clopping over stone. The pressure in the air changed too: it became stuffier and contained, like a brewing storm. However, it was warmer too, and that brought Ed some comfort.

"You are in the lucky care of Doctor Armstrong. You had better not move, or she will kill you," the voice was deep and hypnotic, the type of voice that made one want to listen to it. It was also a voice that Edward despised. Anything that belonged to that bastard Colonel was something he hated. The smallest part of him wanted to sit up and look defiant, but he remained under the protection of the covers…he couldn't reveal too much of his body, just in case this all was a wonderful dream.

He might have been having another hallucination. They were common for him. He never wanted to count his luck; he didn't know what else fate had planned in store for him.

"Why are you here?" Edward said, his tone lacking emotion he had been numb too since the alchemic voltage had leaked it out of his heart.

"To keep you alive, brat. You're useful to me," Roy snorted, but the move to make the conversation jovial was completely strained. Living with a madman for six weeks it seemed, who was an emotional rollercoaster, had attuned Edward's intuitiveness considerably. One thing he had gained from his experience. Equivalent Exchange, he thought mockingly.

But there was something he wasn't telling the blond. Edward could tell. There was planned deceit in his voice. Was it the way the Colonel sighed heavily after snorting? Was it the way he had paused between each sentence? He knew he was over-analysing everything, but this is what it took to stay alive.

-I still do not understand why you want to keep on living.-

-Even the ghosts of your past want you to die, so why don't you?-

"Tell me," Edward demanded. His tone would have instigated threat, but he lacked the momentum to do that.

"I cannot find Fuery. The expanse of the tunnels is far greater than I thought it was originally; it spans further than Turinene," Mustang groaned in visible pain.

"Stop this dammit, Roy!" Maes whispered towards the Colonel. His was a voice to the right but then the door opened or he thought it did and another voice shouted out "that's enough" and that was right it was enough Edward couldn't adjust to this noise it was painful and he wanted it to stop-

"Enough!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, sitting up, and then he collapsed. It felt like his chest had been clamped with staples, crawling across his tissues and organs, ripping each one up into tiny shreds. He swallowed bile rising in his throat. He was being hurt because Kimblee knew this induced his alchemic voltage even more it was coming and he had to be ready-

"Edward," the boy realized the world had gone silent. He could only hear someone calling out his name, "you were suffering from advanced sepsis when you were extracted from the tunnels. You have multiple broken bones and fractures as well as muscular atrophy. The extent of your internal damage is yet to be determined. Nevertheless, you will live."

Finally. He was being told. He had information pouring into this brain. He wasn't a lab rat trapped unknowingly in the dark. He was curious and he had wanted answers. Some part of him was so goddamn happy that he was being answered and treated like a human being. His one simple request had been answered.

But he was dirt. He couldn't forget. Kimblee would not allow him to forget.

"Please…go…" he gasped. He was grateful that he had been saved from the tunnels, he was. But the claustrophobia reminded him when Kimblee's gang would enter the room after he had emerged from his unconscious sleep. He hadn't slept soundly since. For him there were too many people. His muscles were tense and his jaw tight, as if it had been clamped shut. And he was in terrible pain. The painkillers had made him drowsy, but had barely numbed the pain. It spread throughout him like a dull fire. But its presence was distracting from the image of Kimblee's men seeking out their 'sunshine'-

"Please," Ed choked, and there was rapid shuffling as everyone vacated the room at his evident desperation. Why was he so damn useless? A few warm tears glided gently down his face, burning the cuts and scars that lined the bridge of his nose, the crook of his chin and shadows beneath his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

They had visuals of the mansion. That was where the Elric brothers were staying.

He held a steady breath. They were not the targets. Another member of the household was.

His fingers trembled in excitement and anticipation. This was it.

He had blocked the only known entrance to the tunnels. He had prepared the rooms for his experiments to occur.

The alchemic sparks tingled in his palms. Static like electricity. They were to approach the mansion, but they were waiting for the final member of their infiltration team before the mission began. Homunculi were far more fun than criminals to work with.

Einar Kimblee smiled serenely beneath the light of the moon.

Phase III could finally begin...

Another update?! I know, quite surprising. But it's all thanks to you readers for motivating me, so thank you for the support! I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot really begins to pick up from here. And sorry for the cliffhanger there.

Also, it was Doctor Viola Cadence Armstrong who told Edward exactly what had happened to him. She's blunt, but brilliant to write.