A/N: This chapter introduces a few new characters, because conflict makes things more interesting. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Also, if you see typos or anything else wrong, don't be afraid to tell me; criticism makes the world go round.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I'm not getting paid for writing this.

Chapter One -- Information and Inquiries

Two sheets of thick, off-white paper lay on General Ralph Kansan's desk. At the moment, there was nothing else on his desk besides a pack of cigarettes and matches. Nothing to distract him. Good. The thickset man grinned grimly, sat up in his chair, and began to reread the letter for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. In actuality, it was two letters: one was a copy of a telegraph from the police captain in the backwoods northern city of Cohigis, which had been sent to the acting Fuhrer, Hakuro, very early yesterday morning. The second sheet of paper contained a letter from Hakuro to Kansan. He supposed that a second letter, albeit a different version, had also been sent to the Amestrian parliament, because weren't they involved in everything these days? Kansan sighed before recovering his focus. In his opinion, things had been easier when the Fuhrer's word was final.

From: Captain Bernard, Police Headquarters, Cohigis.
To: Fuhrer Hakuro, Central Headquarters, Central City.
January 18, 1919

It is my somber duty to inform you that on Saturday, January 17, an incident involving Amestrian citizens occurred in the Bank of Cohigis. Several armed men, probably working for a private organization, entered the bank, revealed their firearms, and proceeded to kidnap five or six civilians, according to eyewitnesses. The two men responsible for the bank's security were shot and killed as they tried to prevent the event. It can be inferred that these men are well trained and highly dangerous.

By the time the police force had been informed and we were in pursuit, the criminals had already made their way to the train station and boarded. There was no sign of commotion at the train station; no one else was hurt or killed.

The train was, unfortunately, heading north into Drachma. As you know, we cannot pursue the perpetrators outside national lines. Instead, our men gathered the information that is now being presented to you, in the hopes that the military would take action.

We do not believe this to be the actions of the Drachman government, which indicates that there is at least one rebel group among our northern neighbors. We do not believe that this was a random act of terror.

The identities of four of the hostages have been found: Elliot Wicker, a politician; Kurt Fieldling, a businessman in the business of oil; Elizabeth Ferns, a housewife; and Leonard Ferns, Elizabeth Ferns's younger son.

I have the utmost faith that the military will find a way to resolve this, and bring our missing family and friends home alive.

At your service,
Captain William Bernard

CLASSIFIED
To: General Kansan
From: Fuhrer Hakuro
January 19, 1919

By the time you read this, I will have already met with Parliament, and agreed on a solution to the Drachman rebels. Your loyalty to the military over these past years has been immeasurable, and this is why I have chosen you to lead in the agreed-upon rescue mission.

At noon today, I will require your presence at the debriefing.

Sincerely,
Fuhrer Hakuro

Kansan had read through both of the letters seven times now, though the second was by far the one he enjoyed reading more. He took a deep, satisfying breath, and leaned back in his chair, slowly lacing his fingers together behind his head. This was what he had been waiting for.

It had been a long time, almost fifteen years, as he remembered it. He had been, if not a young man, then a bit lighter on his feet than he was now. Another humorless smile escaped him. Time to show that he wasn't just a loyal pawn. Time to show that he was a pawn destined to become king, to serve his country with equal parts loyalty and unflinching justice.

If there was any time to have his faith in karma restored, this was it. Not only would he have the chance for pure glory; he would also, quietly, have the chance to bring justice's anvil down on those who had so wronged him all those years ago.

With the air of someone cradling a newborn baby, Kansan took the letters off his desk to regard them once more. The sun moving overhead outside was confirmed by the grandfather clock to the General's right. It was almost noon now. Time to shine.

Langston, try as he might, could not get his leg to stop jumping. His palms were beginning to sweat, too, though wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was his anxiety about what exactly was going on here. Or maybe it was because he thought everyone else in the room knew his leg was jumping. He took a deep breath.

He'd been given the copied telegraph from Cohigis, as he suspected everyone else had been. Langston surveyed the calm faces of the other six people in the room. He was the youngest person here, obviously, and the least experienced. With a shock that felt electric, he realized that he was also the only one who had never gone to war.

Though he was nervous, he couldn't help but let his optimistic nature take over. This was a chance for him to prove that, yes, this was what he was supposed to be doing, and, no, there was no mistake about that. With a shallow pang, he imagined going back home after this, the home he had left in the not-so-distant past.

His musings of reassurance were interrupted by the door, which opened to reveal Fuhrer Hakuro and General Kansan. Everyone who was sitting down got up to salute. Langston almost tripped over his own feet.

As they settled down again, Kansan joined the other seven on one side of the round table, sitting down to Langston's left without a word and completing the half circle. Hakuro moved across the room to face them all from his seat.

Langston sat up straighter, almost by instinct. As he did, his eyes traveled across the six people to his right: There were four men of varying heights and widths. The youngest, seated furthest away, looked to be only a few years Langston's senior. Then Major Hawkeye, and, finally General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. To Langston's slight disappointment, Mustang had not been on the committee that certified state alchemists. At least, he wasn't present on the day, barely a month ago, when Langston had finally passed his exam.

As his thoughts turned back to the present situation, he noticed a gleam of dislike in Mustang's remaining eye. He cast his own eyes back to the Fuhrer, waiting for the debriefing to begin. But his curious side had been awakened.

"You all know by now why we are here," Hakuro began, "so we can pass by discussing the actions committed against us. We can move instead into what I and the members of our parliament have decided to do.

"Though we have the means for it, we have no desire to bring a war against Drachma. Our issue is with the group responsible for the kidnapping of our citizens. Our first priority is to bring the hostages home, whether by force or by negotiation. But this deed cannot be allowed to go unpunished; the ones responsible will be brought back to Amestris. Alive, if possible. I want them to stand trial for this.

"Parliament has decided that General Kansan will be in charge of this mission." Even as his gaze remained on Hakuro, Langston saw, out of his peripheral vision, the General swelling with pompous pride. He saw Mustang shift is his chair, as if trying to stifle himself. Langston's curiosity sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

"General Mustang and Major Corsair…" -- Langston fought back pride of his own -- "… will be essential to this mission's success, as they are the only two state alchemists we have decided to send north. Major Hawkeye, Captain Havoc, and Second Lieutenant Fuery will cross the border with around sixty men. Captain Breda and Lieutenant Falman will remain behind at the border, with fewer troops, staying in Cohigis."

The Fuhrer paused, and for a split second, Langston saw every line that had etched a place on the aging man's face. "You will be moving out on the morning train tomorrow. I wish you speed and the best possible luck."

As the meeting adjourned, and they all headed their respective ways in the preparation for tomorrow, the thoughts inside Kansan's skull were tumbling over one another like an avalanche. Firstly, the Fuhrer had chosen him over that rat bastard Mustang. That alone was reason to celebrate. Ralph had never liked people who were only in the military for their own agenda. And Mustang was a perfect example of that: someone who came and went as he pleased, played with loaded dice, and never seemed to be punished thoroughly for it. Sure, the man had been demoted. But he'd gotten his high ranks back quickly enough, hadn't he? And more gold and glory to go along with it, all with just a snap of his fingers. Kansan's lip curled in obscene hatred.

His mind was also preoccupied with thoughts of Major Corsair. There was no doubt the kid had promise. He'd passed his alchemy exams at the age of nineteen, if Ralph's friend on the committee wasn't lying to him. And, though he'd been paying rapt attention to his Fuhrer in the meeting, Ralph had practically felt the waves of eagerness coming off Corsair. The kid was nothing but a puppy, someone made of soft clay. Ralph had always had a knack for being a sculptor. He knew how to turn boys into dogs.

This shapeless kid had the prospect of bringing him back to the kind of glory he'd dreamed of years ago. Langston Corsair reminded him greatly of another man he had met not long after coming to Central. But Ralph didn't like thinking about failure, especially not on that scale. And it had been horrific, to learn that the man he had groomed and shaped so diligently had not only led soldiers to their deaths against better advice, but had subsequently been driven mad by his own extensive injuries. Ralph didn't like stray dogs.

Just like that, Riza's world had been turned upside down. But it had been done so in a way that allowed her to finally see clearly again. Her duty, once again, would be to protect Roy.

Another part of her, the part that she ignored whenever possible, didn't want this. It liked the dinners with Roy, and it liked being seen entirely as a friend and not a subordinate. It knew that irreversible things were going to happen up north, and it didn't like that. Riza's heart was aching, and she had to pause to put mental energy into making it stop.

Even as they walked away from the meeting together, she could feel him pulling away from her. The way he walked next to her changed from the relaxed stroll of a friend to the soldier's gait, cold and bitter as the winter air outside. The one he used in Ishbal. The one she had witnessed outside Lior. The one that she used to admire with a passion, and the one that had reared its ugly head again. If Riza had allowed her feelings to become coherent, she would have admitted to hating the walk that turned Roy into General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, hero. If the concept of going to war hadn't been real to her before, it certainly was now.

I shouldn't be worrying this much, Sheska thought, biting her lip until it went a little numb. I don't have anything to worry about.

This was the mantra she repeated to herself as the line at the bank slowly snaked towards the main desk. By the time she got to the teller, Sheska told herself, her words would be true. Winry would have gotten the money, and be on her way safely back to Risembool.

She felt terrible about what had happened, and not just because she had had a great time at her parents' house. Sheska's guilt stemmed from the fact that her friend was miserable. Winry had told her of Pinako's death calmly, but Sheska knew that being the last living Rockbell couldn't be an easy thing to deal with. She could read between the lines of Winry's increasingly rambling letters, and she had invited her into another family for the holidays. But instead, she'd gotten one of her closest friends stuck in Amestris's coldest city, with no way back to the house that she had grown to hate.

A more irrational source of her guilt came from the fact that she had found romance, and Winry hadn't. She didn't feel too bad about that one, of course, but it still bothered her on occasion. She had declined to tell Winry, the one person she could have safely told, because it seemed so unfair. In her letters, Sheska had only said how dull Central was getting (it wasn't), and how much she despised the new non-fiction section in the library (she didn't).

"How may I help you, miss?" Sheska jumped, and the bank teller gave her a disparaging look. Had she been that distracted?

"Yes, I need to check if some wired money I sent has been picked up." She resumed biting her lip after considering biting her nails instead.

"City or town?" The black-haired woman couldn't have sounded more bored if she tried.

"Cohigis."

"Name?"

"Winry Rockbell."

The woman flipped through several sheets of manila paper. "No."

"No? Are you positive?" It took most of Sheska's willpower to keep from going behind the desk and checking the records herself.

"It's not a gray area, doll. She didn't pick the money up." Her voice was now a little higher as she twirled a pen between her fingers, clearly annoyed. "Can I help you with anything else today?"

"No, but I -- "

"Next in line!"

Fuery paced back and forth outside apartment number 37B. He checked his watch again, hoping that he just imagined time going by this fast. He groaned; he wasn't. Fuery let himself slide down against the wall, hoping that no one else on this floor decided to leave or come in. He felt a little weird as it was, having never seen the inside of her apartment before.

Ordinarily, he would have just slid a note under her door, and seen her the following day. In this case, tomorrow meant a morning train to a foreign land where summer felt like winter. Tomorrow meant no time to talk to his girlfriend.

Footfalls from the steps set him on edge until he realized they were the same shy, light ones he heard almost every day. He got up and moved towards the landing to greet her, and his smile faded.

Sheska was crying, hard. Behind her glasses, her green eyes looked larger than ever.

"What -- " He didn't get to finish, because she nearly leapt forward to meet him, and threw her arms around him with a force that he didn't know she possessed, a force that nearly knocked both of them to the worn wooden floors of her apartment building hallway.

She was sobbing into his shoulder, and he was just standing there, holding her close. He didn't know what was wrong, but knowing Sheska, he'd know soon enough. But the words she spoke were not those he would have expected, nor were they words that he had an easy solution to.

"I think something happened to Winry, Kain. I think something bad happened to her, and it's my fault." She was shaking, and he couldn't blame her. As a few tentative puzzle pieces came together in Fuery's mind, a chill went down his spine.