Hey Guys! Sorry for the late update! Turns out this story took longer than expected to write up xD It's ending up to be a 3-shot story! Hope you don't mind. There's was a lot of detail that needed to go into this, so please don't hate me. xD Anyway, enjoy and R&R! I'll have the next one up within a few days because I've already written it xD yay!
The next morning, Mustang woke up groggy. His dreams consisted of Edward cut in half by the homunculus Envy, and Mustang burning Edward on Ishval ground. His eyes felt weary. A quick, hot shower and massage to his eyes, Mustang was ready to leave, anxious to get their search moving. But when he walked down to the lobby, no one was there. A steady rapture to Hawkeyes door, and he learned that it was too early to do any searching. It was only then that Mustang realized the time. The only people awake would be those headed to an early morning job.
He sighed, frustrated that he couldn't even sleep in just an ounce longer than in central. Though if he were to admit it to himself, he would feel bad for wasting the time when his efforts needed to be elsewhere. Finishing off his coffee, Mustang ventured outside in the crisp morning air. The air was more brisk than in Central, but Mustang was fine with that. He looked around at the shops surrounding the hotel. Most were still closed, with very few people milling about, rushing to their destination.
Not wanting to seem like he was surveying the area, Mustang walked along down the street, paying attention to the minute details of each place. Although the city of Canan was prosperous, its shops seemed to be in need of fixing.
Mustang frowned, wondering if any of these places had caught Fullmetal's attention. He sincerely doubted it, which meant they wouldn't be very helpful. The one particular shop Mustang was looking for was of most interest to him. It was the area in which Fullmetal had needed to fix the dispute. A place called Surgers.
Mustang had specifically assigned this mission to Fullmetal because in the past, Surgers had been a place of alchemical notations and research. He figured if he sent Fullmetal this way, he would find a plethora of puzzle pieces leading to how he and Alphonse would get their bodies back.
"Now, if only I could find that damn shop." Grumbling aloud seemed to sooth his ill-tempered mood but nothing more. Looking at a map that stood plastered behind glass on the sidewalk, Mustang pondered his position and the best route to take when he was pushed into the glass itself, barely catching himself before hitting the board.
"What the hell!" He growled, too exhausted to care about his speech, looking around to see who the culprit was. They had vanished quicker than he'd expected. Glaring at his surroundings, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, intending to presume his task. A piece of crumbled paper, jammed clumsily into his pockets, caught his attention. He glanced around again, sure that the person was watching his actions. He then turned back towards the direction of the hotel, only opening the piece of paper once he reached his hotel room. In the privacy the walls provided, Mustang pulled out the paper.
Meet me at the flower shop at 1800 hours. I have information you may want.
His eyes slanted. Whether this person was pulling his leg or not, he knew there was no way he was missing this deadline. A rapture on his door caught his attention, and he opened it un-surprised to find Hawkeye on the other side.
"Sir, the other's are downstairs."
"Thanks," He said, distracted. His mind was too far away at the moment. Who in the world could that have been?
"Sir?" Hawkeye asked. Mustang realized she'd called out for a second time.
"Sorry, lost in thought." He smiled shortly, "I'll be down in a minute." She nodded, and let him be. For a moment longer, he stood at the closed door, staring down at the note before he crumpled it in his fist and headed to his subordinates and those who accompanied them.
It was only a short time later, after explaining to the group what had happened earlier that morning (and Hawkeye scolding him for going out on a day when the clouds were brewing with rain) that Mustang, Hawkeye, Breda and Havoc found themselves at the flowershop. Not that they were trying to intimidate the person, but they were really trying to intimidate that person (or those people, who knew?) into giving them the information they wanted without having to come to some hard decisions. Such as Mustang flaming them to death if they didn't give him a satisfactory answer.
He did have his conscience by his side, however (in the form of Riza Hawkeye), so burning somebody would be hard to do. They walked into the store, a bell ringing above as they did so, and stopped just short of entering. Though the flower shop was small - no bigger than Mustang's office and the outside area that fit all of his subordinates - flowers and plants filled the area to the brim. To walk straight, even down a selected path, one would run into the plants. To say it was odd was putting it mildly.
"What could be the purpose behind bringing us here?" Breda thought aloud, murmuring everyone's thought.
"It's definitely got a weird vibe to it." Havoc chimed up, sniffing the air with a grimace. The scent of plants and almost a perfume were wild and strong, even Mustang had to make an effort to keep his face neutral. You never knew who was watching. Especially with that kind of note.
"I for one hope this man hurries it up. We don't have the time to waste standing here." Mustang could feel his impatience growing. He felt certain that they were running out of time, but the reason for that nervousness was precarious.
They soon found themselves at the very back of the store, having looked around a bit. Mustang had noticed an employer's door slightly encompassed by vines and other hanging plants, with water gently escaping underneath the door. Peculiar, to say the least.
A chime of the bell alerted them to someone else entering the store. Breda, having taken up the rear of the group, immediately set up a defense stance which would have been comical to Mustang had the circumstances been different. But they waited all the same, and watched as a man in a trenchcoat and top hat came close by, stopping about a foot away from Breda.
"Who are you?" Mustang growled, irritated that this man had the gall to hide his face. It was his opinion that if you plan on exploiting someone, at least do it with pride. To shame yourself by hiding your face was rather distasteful and left little room for respect.
"My name is not important," The man answered back, his voice raspy. He kept his face hidden, looking downward towards his shoulder.
"Why did you give me that note? Do you know something about the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric?" Mustang had no interest in small chatter, wanting to get straight to the point so they could be on their way.
"I do."
"Do you know where he is?"
"I do not."
"Can you tell us who kidnapped him?" Riza piped up,
"I can give you a general idea." The man replied. He reached into his pocket, holding out a gloved hand with a note in it. Breda reached out and took the note, then handed it to Mustang.
"How do we know this isn't just a trap?" He asked, wary of the danger he could be putting everyone in.
"Well, I guess you'll just have to find that out for yourself, won't you?" The man lifted his head briefly, But the shop was too dark to see much of his features, though his eyes glimmered in the small light. It was a wonder that any of the plants grew in a place such as this.
The man bowed his head, before he quickly turned about and left the shop as fast as he had entered it. The group stared after the man for a moment longer after he was out of sight, each one subtly shocked at the abruptness of the meeting, having expected something quite different.
"Well… what does the note say?" Havoc asked, breaking the silence. Mustang had almost forgotten about the note. He looked down at it, feeling nervous at what it would say. What if it said that there was no chance of saving Fullmetal? How could he handle the guilt? He couldn't stop thinking about Alphonse and how this news would crush him. The boys were all each other had. If one of them was gone, and all due to the military affiliations - Mustang knew how selfish that was. But he was a selfish man. He had his goals. He was climbing his way to the top, and he knew the means by which he needed to do so to make it happen. He didn't want the pressing mount of guilt on his shoulders for the rest of his life, as he was sure this would cause. Glancing up, he made sure no one was in the shop. Matters such as this needed to be dealt with discreetly.
Look up a man by the name of Geoffrey Neumann, secretary to the previous Mayor Myolees. His hands are not clean, and you'd do well to watch your back. His information is valuable.
Mustang passed the note on to the others while he stewed over the information. His hands are not clean. The obvious answer to that was that this man had previously dealt with involvement to murder. Whether that meant he did the work himself, or hired someone, he still caused the action to transpire. Once everyone read the note, Mustang burned it, then headed out the door of the flower shop. Somehow, he always ended up with, or surrounded by, flowers.
"Breda, tonight, work with the others of intel to find out where we can contact that man. Havoc, at oh-eight hundred hours, I want you to be on the lookout for anyone overtly suspicious of our presence here in Canan." Mustang walked briskly as he talked, barely noticing the pace he set. "Hawkeye, keep on the lookout from above. We could use the arial view. Tonight, we find that man, and tomorrow, we act."
"Sir!" they said in unison, their voices bounced as they walked.
At seven-thirty that night, Breda went to meet with their local intelligence to gather the whereabouts of Geoffrey Neumann, ex-secretary to the previous mayor. Though it was unnecessary, Havoc kept a subtle look-out to make sure their safety was not compromised. Whoever the man was earlier, had wanted to exploit this Geoffrey. Mustang could care less if it was due to a guilty conscience or if it was simply because he wanted revenge. Worst case scenario, revenge is was it was, but the help it would provide to them would be welcomed. Hopefully it provides some useful information Mustang thought.
A few hours later, Breda walked in the door, a grin on his face. The relief Mustang felt was inpalpable. They had a solid foundation of intel. Finally. Now, the real work began.
That night Mustang lay wide awake, his mind running. He felt he would explode if they didn't get some real answers soon. This man had to know where Fullmetal was. They were so close. Once this was over with, he planned on taking a good long nap. The stress was cause bags to form underneath Mustang's eyes.
It seemed as if morning took longer than normal to arrive. The sky was overcast, but thankfully no rain had fallen. If it was any indicator to the previous day, then it would stay that way. The information Breda provided was brilliant. They had more information on this man then they could have imagined. Although, none of it was enough to convict the man of any real crime, hopefully learning about Fullmetal's whereabouts would be enough to convict the man of a small misdemeanor. Maybe more.
The stopped at a large home, a white, metal fence blocking their path to the front door. Cobblestones covered the ground in the same direction, the grass a deep green. The house stood farther back near a cluster of trees, with moss and grape vines practically drowning the house. When Mustang knocked on the wooden door, he was surprised by house thick it felt against his knuckles. Every detail seemed to reveal how much this man wanted to hide. If that man felt he would get away with even the slightest bit of knowledge concerning Ed, he was dead wrong. Mustang was going to get answers, and it was going to happen this day.
They heard footsteps growing louder, their tick on the ground like a woman wearing stiletto's. A middle-aged maid opened the door, revealing a walker stick with peculiar sharp edges at the bottom.
"Yes?" She asked, blandly. With brown hair in a bun, and bangs that sat straight across her forehead, a few longer strands on the sides, the woman seemed rather plain. Her share of unamusement sent the message that she'd rather be anywhere else. In his military uniform, Mustang announced himself and the other's with him.
"We've come to speak with Mr. Neumann."
"I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Neumann is not in at the moment." She started to shut the door, but Mustang quickly shot out a hand.
"I insist," he stated, announcing his refusal to leave. If Geoffrey Neumann wanted to play this game, then Mustang would play it. He'd done so many times before and had no qualms about doing it again. Though it was a tedious and detestable task, it seemed necessary.
"Very well, then," the maid said, and let them enter. Mustang and Hawkeye entered the house, while Breda and Havoc stood post outside never having stepped onto the property. The maid left their presence for a minute or so while they settled for standing in the foyer. Soon, she was walking down a set of steps, Geoffrey Neumann in tow.
"Colonel Roy Mustang," He stated lithely as he stepped off the stairs. He then turned to Hawkeye, his lustful stare angering Mustang. He couldn't help but smoothly fist a hand while he watched. "Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye," he said her name silkily. This man, whomever he was, had too soothing of a voice when speaking with his lieutenant. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
The man smiled, his straight, white teeth nearly glowing with their brightness.
"We have a few questions for you, Mr. Neumann." The smile faltered on Geoffrey's face and Mustang felt a bit of pride to know he saw some fear in the man's eyes.
"I'll answer what I can," He replied, as if he had no answers to give.
"You will." Mustang spoke evenly, the threat implied. They were shown to the sitting area, the coloring very bright and vibrant in the room, in contrast to the stucco of the outside. Geoffrey Neumann sat very relaxed on his chair, while Hawkeye stood behind Mustang, ready to act if necessary.
"Some of my men tell me that you used to be the secretary of the city to the previous mayor Myolees." Basic facts. If Mustang could get the man to spill information himself, the better.
"I was, yes."
"Have you two stayed in contact since then?" The question was, perhaps, more direct than Mustang had intended, but nevertheless, he was unapologetic.
"Colonel Mustang, I believe you have something you wish to accuse me of?"
Mustang frowned. He did not like this man, and it was obvious the feeling was mutual. The maid walked into the room, interrupting them with a tray of tea, oblivious to the tension in the room; though it was so thick you could cut it with a sword. Mustang waited for her to leave before he spoke again.
"What do you know about the disappearance of the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric?" He kept his voice even. To endanger receiving the right information, who knew what consequences that could conjure up. Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, calculating, before leaning back against the chair. It was quite obvious that he knew something, but Mustang feared the man wouldn't "go down" without a fight.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to." Mustang glared at the man, "I know of a state alchemist that was here recently, but I had heard he left town." Geoffrey fixed a cuff on his sleeve, barely giving any acknowledgement to the question.
"Don't give me that bullshit," Mustang growled. The man was infuriating. He was about ready to punch the man in the face for all his callous speech. "I know you know something, Neumann. Now tell me what I want to know, and we can be on our way as quickly as we came." Riza, standing next to him, gently put a hand to his shoulder, a silent reminder to remain calm.
"Threats, Colonel Mustang, fair little in the way of information." Geoffrey scooted forward on his seat, staring intently at Mustang, a sharpness to his gaze. The aloof air about him sewn shut as quickly as a slammed door. "You want your information?" He spat, "take a look at the only house on the block with a hanging tree branch." His glower seemed to reach his chin, as he leaned against his knees, appearing unaware of the danger which Mustang presented.
"Now, I must ask you to leave," Geoffrey announced after a few moments of silence, once again resuming his aloof state, taking a sip of his drink, "and remember this information I gave you, Colonel. I trust things will go smoothly between us from here on out?" He smiled arrogantly, as if any involvement he had in the case would be looked over due to this hideously small amount of information he'd given. Mustang could barely hide a scoff before he stood and left the house, Hawkeye following behind, their tea left untouched.
Mustang walked briskly, his heart pounding. A house with a hanging tree branch? That could be anywhere. But they were that much closer to finding where Fullmetal was. With this information, Mustang and Hawkeye met up with Breda and Havoc, announcing the small measure of information they received.
"Havoc, scour the city and find that damn house with that damn hanging tree branch. Breda, inform the other men of the situation and what they need to do next. Hawkeye and I will do the same. We'll meet at twenty hundred hours and plan our strategy then." They all gave a nod, then set on their way.
It turned out that scouring the city was a more complicated task than they had thought. The city was large, so finding a house with such little of a description wasn't easy. But by the time they had returned at eight o'clock, Breda had some news. They waited for all the men to arrive before Havoc quickly spoke. Luckily the wait had been less than ten minutes.
"Sir, I've found the house." Mustang wanted to shout for joy. They finally had a lead worth following through with. Of course, wanting to avoid being a spectacle more than he already had been (anger really had a way of showing itself to those in the vicinity,) Mustang spoke quickly, his voice low.
"Where? Where is that damn house?"
"It's near the outskirts of town." Havoc paused, a frown on his face. Mustang did not like the look.
"What is it Havoc?"
"Sir…" he swallowed, "sir, the house, it… it doesn't look good, sir." He looked at the surrounding soldiers, before gazing back at Mustang who now had his hands clenched.
What had they done to Fullmetal, if his subordinate has such an expression on his face before they even enter the house? He looked outside, taking note of the dim sky, before looking at everyone waiting for his word of action.
"We'll go tonight. Pack bags, bring flashlights, the whole works. Make sure to bring food and water just in case Fullmetal is in that house." Everyone gave a short nod of acknowledgement, "we'll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Got it?" The group then gave a hard salute,
"Sir!" They voiced in union.
Fifteen minutes later, they were all gathered in the lobby, Mustang had had two soldiers grab vehicles for all of them to fit into, and they were off. Another fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the address that Havoc given. Through the headlights, the house looked old and run down. Over grown grapevines lathered a fence that blocked their cars from entry. Even from far away in the dark, with only headlights to see in front of them, you could see the wood on the house chipping away. Blocks of wood lined the windows, and it was quite obvious that no one had been living in this home for a long time.
Mustang couldn't believe his eyes. His blood boiled. How dare they keep his subordinate in a place like this? What horrors lay as evidence inside? As much as Mustang wanted to find Fullmetal, he could feel the emptiness of the house. Somehow, he felt like this was all wrong. That this wasn't where Fullmetal was; but yet, he felt an incessant need to satisfy his worry. So, as he scowled at the house, he pulled open his door and stepped onto the unkempt dirt driveway. He barely noticed everyone else as they stepped out of the cars, themselves. Putting backpacks on full of necessary equipment, Mustang broke the lock on the rusted gate, setting a quick pace to the house.
The second they walked into the house, Mustang's heart dropped. Not only because of the horrid smell in the air, but the place was ransacked. Rat poo scoured the edges of the walls, the electrical system barely broke through the darkness of each room. Though everyone had split up in search of Fullmetal, yelling his name, Mustang continued looking for a possible secret passageway. To take him to a place such as this, they had to have wanted him somewhere where he would be the most absolute uncomfortable. A place where, even those who randomly drove by wouldn't notice anything different about the house. If no one was living here, why would lights be on, right? Unless the citizens were so unfeeling that they couldn't give a care in the world to what was going on around them.
Less than ten minutes later, the two story home had been searched, with no answer from Fullmetal. Mustang grimaced as he took one last look at the disgusting kitchen. Mold, and spiderwebs plastering the walls, dirt everywhere you looked. They should've thought to bring something to cover their mouths with so they didn't get sick because of it. Suddenly, Havoc rushed into towards Mustang,
"Sir, there's a basement…" he paused, hesitant, "you might want to take a look." The look on Havoc's face made Mustang's stomach twist with anxiety. Something was horribly wrong. He and the other's followed Havoc to the basement door, in a section which Mustang had not been searching in, and opened the door, instantly becoming assauged with a rancid smell.
Quickly Mustang ran down the steps of the old, rickety house as fast as the darkness would allow, the other's following behind. The flashlights they were using barely breaking the thick darkness. Something was seriously wrong, here, and Mustang's insides twisted to confirm his anxiety. The basement of the old, rickety home was deeper than he had thought, and he couldn't help but imagine dark horrible things happening in this home decades ago.
With Hawkeye and several other soldiers behind him, Mustang reached the bottom of the stairwell, his heart beating fast. Maybe they had really found Fullmetal, stashed away in this nightmare. Had they really been able to figure out this quickly where Ex-Mayor Myolees had kidnapped Edward? Staring gravely at a rotten wooden door, Mustang put his gloved hand on the doorknob, expecting to easily enter the area beyond.
Annoyance ticked along his temple when the door didn't budge.
"Dammit-all," he muttered, irritated with the dank door. He let out a breath before kicking it onsauge of rotten filled the air, and a collaborative cry of disgust broke the silence.
"Fullmetal?" Mustang called, his flashlight trying to break the heavy blackness of the dark. He held his breath, hoping this was it. Hoping Edward would yell or scream or muffle any kind of sound to announce his whereabouts.
When no sound was made, Mustang and the others walked slowly forward - Hawkeye directly behind him, the combination of each flashlight adding greater visibility. Just a few shorts steps ahead was another door. The rotten wood so grotesque, Mustang was sure he would pass out. Whatever smell was coming from the other side of the door, it was not pleasant. Mustang's insides began to squirm. If Fullmetal was gone, there would be Hell to pay, and he would no longer be responsible for his actions. The idea that his youngest subordinate was no longer living or breathing was unfathomable, and that very idea caused his heart to squeeze uncomfortably. Whether it was because of Ed's age or for some other instincts Mustang had acquired, his level of caring was waning thin.
If Ed was gone… what would he tell Alphonse? How would Alphonse gain his body back? What would become of Alphonse emotionally? How could Mustang face him? Would he still feel like Mustang could be trusted? Would Alphonse blame him? Mustang wouldn't be surprised, and in fact, even felt he deserved to have the younger Elric brother's blame and hate, if it came down to that.
The increasing amount of responsibility Mustang felt for those boys over the last week was beginning to surprised him less and less. He wasn't sure when that changed, but however irritating it was, Mustang'd be damned to see either one of them killed. He internally grumbled at his growing amount of affection for the boys, and consciously blamed Hughes for acquiring these - what could only be surmised as - fatherly instincts.
Taking away a step in the process, Mustang kicked the rotten door open, unwilling to even touch the foul knob. It burst open easily, breaking off from the hinges and slamming to the ground. Puffs of air filled the area surrounding the door, and several coughs could be heard from the group, Mustang and Hawkeye included.
The room they entered was bigger. Two wooden pillars stood on the left and right of the entryway. The ceiling was so low, Mustang wondered whether or not insects would fall into his hair just from the air that drafted between his head and the roof. Dirt stood in place as walls in every corner, and, with the help of a flashlight, they could see a hanging ceiling light which hung as low as Mustangs shoulders. Its position was farther off to the right corner of the large room. In the left corner looked to be almost a kitchen size room, with bars for a door. Mustang walked towards it, wondering if his subordinate was locked away in that area.
"Fullmetal?" He called out, slowly approaching, wondering why he felt the need to keep the situation calm and collected. There was no answer. Hawkeye walked next to him, her presence helping him feel calmer than he was.
"Edward?" Her voice rang shrill to Mustangs ears, amplified by the eerie atmosphere. No sound was made beyond the dirt compacted wall. Mustang slowly walked forward, afraid to see what was beyond. Mustang wanted to roll his eyes at the metal bars. Because they were compacted tightly into the dirt, he acted like a door, but if he knew anything, it was that Fullmetal could easily break through something such as this and it worried him that it was completely in tact.
Shining his light through the bars, Mustang saw a similar light hanging down from the ceiling in that room as well. Directly underneath the light sat a rusted metal chair. The four legs embedded into the ground, though it looked like it could easily be pulled away. He stared incredulously at the chair. Ed was not there. A quick look around showed he wasn't lying dead on the ground either, but a look at the surroundings of the room made a pitfall in his gut.
Mustang quickly removed the bars from their place in order to take a closer look. Turning on the ceiling light, it provided very little room to see, but it helped his flashlight to peel through the thick black. Strange flecks covered the walls, ceiling, and ground. Mustang strode with purpose to a spot on the dirt wall where the splotch covered a large area. Taking a swipe with a gloved finger, Mustang inspected the residue on his hand. Blood. It was blood on the walls. Blood on the walls, ceiling, and the dusty cement floor. Mustang felt rage build up. This was torture. He knew the signs. Had been instructed to do the same back in Ishval. But if this level of torture was done to Fullmetal, Mustang knew what was intended here. An urgency soared through him to find Ed as quickly as possible. If he wasn't already dead yet. It had already been nearly four days since they had arrived in Canan. If they didn't find him soon- Mustang couldn't finish the thought as his rage bubbled. He strode out of the room, barely noticing Hawkeye near him, before he stopped just beside the wall of the room.
"DAMMIT!" Mustang yelled, slamming his fist against the wall, sending a burst of flames alongside the edges of the room. All was quiet for a tense minute, then he felt a hand on his left shoulder.
"Sir," Hawkeye said softly behind him. Mustang's pounding heart began to slow. There was no point in getting this angry yet. They still had much to do and no time to waste. With a small nod of his head to acknowledge her subtle message, he moved forward towards the exit. He could feel his ferocious expression without having to glance at the soldiers around him, but he didn't care. The ridiculousness of the situation irritated him most damnably, and he was ready to kick someone's ass as payment for what they've done.