Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Amestris, 1921

It was a quarter to three in the afternoon when she heard the scream.

Sheska froze, her fingers convulsively gripping the volumes she'd been considering just nanoseconds ago. She closed her eyes immediately, slowed her preparatory shrieking breath into something more calm, and did exactly what she had been trained to do in exactly this situation.

She counted, very slowly, to three.

The scream sounded like it was coming from the entrance hall, and when she got to two and a half it broke off into a choked yell.

Sheska couldn't understand it. She'd counted to three exactly like she'd been instructed, but didn't feel any calmer. Despite First Lieutenant Ross' steady but imaginary voice reassuring her, she promptly fell back on her tried and true coping mechanism. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and answered the scream with one of her own.

If the first one hadn't gotten much attention, hers certainly did. Perhaps it was because hers was a female voice, and at least an octave and a third above the other. The sounds of heavy military combat boots on finished wood floors clomped towards her, followed by the unmistakable bangs of various office doors being thrown open.

She opened one eye a crack, realizing suddenly that her position by the I-K bookcases put her directly in front of the door to the entrance hall. If she didn't either open that door or move, she was about to get run over by several military officers, one of whom she was certain would have already drawn a weapon. Getting run over was enough to spur her into action.

If these officers couldn't protect her from whoever was yelling in the hallway, she was a goner anyway.

"Sergeant, what's the matter?"

Another bitten off yell echoed down the hall to them, and she figured it answered the question for her. It was the Master Sergeant behind her, and it emboldened her enough to reach out for the doorknob. It was the kind that was normally on a large, heavy door, not round and pleasant to imitate shaking hands with, but with a thick silver handle and a large, flat stylized lever to press down with the thumb.

But what if whoever was yelling was yelling because someone was storming the building, and they'd gotten shot? What if when she opened the door someone shot at her?

"What's going on?"

"Sheska, what's –"

"Someone open the door!"

The last was barked, and it was an order. Her hand involuntarily obeyed her, grasping the latch firmly and pushing the door open with more strength than was strictly necessary.

Then she stared.

The door flew open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the warm cherry-paneled walls, the high arched white ceilings, the blazing chandelier. Ishbal-woven rugs covered the long hallway, guarded by imposing suits of armor. The door banged against the wall as it completed swinging on its hinges, but the sound didn't even make her wince.

Lying in front of the third suit of armor on the right was a young man, and he was obviously the source of the noise. Long, messy blonde hair obscured his face. He was writhing on the ground, as if trying to grind his shoulder through the floor, and his uniform was unlike any she'd seen.

His left pant leg flopped strangely emptily on the floor, tangling into his right leg as it braced it against the floor.

She felt a shove behind her and she stepped obediently to the side, into the hallway, forgotten volumes clutched to her chest. The voice wasn't familiar, but the stature, the hair, and most importantly the missing limb –

But that couldn't be.

Beside the man, apparently forgotten, was what looked like a very small liquid tank, round and about the same size as a throwing ball, with a spinning valve on the top. Other than that, the hallway was empty. The main entrance doors were pulled shut, and the bells above them were still and silent.

If he had used the doors, they would have still been swinging, even if he had entered slowly so they didn't ring.

"E-Edward?" She barely recognized the squeak as her own voice.

Denny Brosh pushed past her, no weapon in his hand, and after a second he broke into a run. He was closely followed by the colonel, and after her the Major General. The young man groaned; Sheska could see the muscles on his jaw standing out prominently before Denny knelt beside him and laid gentle hands on his shoulders.

"Easy, let's have you over –"

His left arm was curled across his chest, clinging to his hidden right, but she knew even before the master sergeant turned him onto his back that it would be missing, as well. She'd have to put a call in to Winry Rockbell right away, the other woman probably hadn't thought to have yet another set waiting for him when he returned –

Had he? Had he really?

By the time Denny had him on his back it was obvious their visitor was none other than Edward Elric. His eyes were clenched shut and his face screwed up against the obvious pain he was in, but it was still recognizably him. He looked older than she remembered, and . . . longer. His uniform was a light brown, and looked heavy, like the woolen uniforms Amestris provided for the more northern posts. The boot on his remaining foot was black, and seemed to be made of leather. His hair had once been in a braid but it had come undone long ago, and all of him, from head to toe, was covered in grime.

He was choking back another yell as he was rolled to his back, and seemed unable to remain still, his right leg scrambling on the floor as though trying to find purchase. The colonel was talking in a soothing tone of voice, but Sheska couldn't catch what she was saying. She'd crouched down directly before him, obscuring him from sight, and suddenly the Major General's face swam into Sheska's view.

"Sergeant, do you hear me?"

His previous words filtered into her brain. Call the base doctor.

She scurried back into the main office, grabbing the first phone that came into view. She knew the number; she'd memorized the base phone book as soon as she'd been assigned, and used the doctor's direct line rather than going through the receptionist. This proved to be most useful – at five to three in the afternoon he had finished with the days' surgeries and was preparing his afternoon rounds at his desk.

With the promise of immediate assistance, she returned to the hallway. They had gotten him calmed, but not much. She couldn't see him at all for the officers crowded around him, and hovered in the doorway, unsure of whether to assure the major general or to stay out of his way.

"L-lieutenant – ?"

"Edward, take a deep breath."

A choked groan. "Where . . . where am I?"

"You're safe, Fullmetal. You're in Central."

"Let me see-"

Whatever it was the colonel had been trying to see, it elicited a barely contained shout. " – there's something wrong with it-"

"A doctor's on the way. Ed, where have you been? Where's Alphonse?"

For a moment all the voices died away, and she could only hear labored breathing. She didn't realize her hands were trembling until she found she was covering her mouth with one.

What had happened to him? Why was he in so much pain? And where was his brother?

"He's – he's here . . ." Ed's voice faltered. "I left him with you-"

"When?" The voice was sharp.

Edward's breathing changed, became slower, more focused. "The airship . . . I left both of you . . ."

"Edward." The colonel's voice was very gentle. "That was over four years ago. And Alphonse, he –"

"He stowed away on the airship," the major general supplied, his tone still sharp. "He went back with you."

"Back?" Ed's voice cracked, and for once, she wasn't sure it was because of the physical pain. He said something else she couldn't catch, then, "How d-did I get here?"

Several of the officers' eyes flicked to her, and she just shook her head mutely. If he didn't use the doors, and he only had one leg and one arm, it was unlikely that he'd done anything besides – just appear.

But why? Why, after four years, would he just appear? Here in the Major General's offices, of all places? Wouldn't he have returned to the place he left, under the city? Of course, it was probably a blessing that he hadn't, considering much of that area had been concreted in to guarantee the stability of the city above.

"What do you remember?"

His breathing was starting to become shorter, more frequent. He was starting to panic again. "I- I took the Thule rocket back through the Gate –"

"Then what?"

He didn't say anything, but the Major General straightened, staring down at the still-squirming form of Edward Elric. Then he turned forty-five degrees, directly facing the suit of armor on the wall.

"Alphonse?" he questioned.

The armor didn't respond.

Of course, it wasn't Alphonse's armor. It wasn't even related, actually, considering Alphonse's original armor had been transmuted into the Philosopher's Stone and then completely used by Alphonse in his attempt to resurrect his brother. She'd been privy to the full reports, the ones that hadn't been filed with the Parliament, on that subject.

Winry had told her.

This armor, on the other hand, hadn't even been manufactured in Amestris. It was one of the ornamental suits that had been given to the Major General upon his reinstatement. It had five matching siblings guarding the hallway with it, supposedly signifying the military's solidarity in protecting its own. There was nothing special about it.

The major general waited a moment, even going so far as to stand on the balls of his feet to peer into the viewing grate. Apparently satisfied that two eerie red dots weren't looking back out, he spun another forty-five degrees. And was looking directly at her.

Sheska stiffened involuntarily. "On the way, sir," she managed in a reasonably steady voice. "I'll wait for them by the street if you –"

The colonel's worried voice interrupted her. "Ed? . . . Edward!"

"It's a fit," Denny's voice was worried but steady. "My little sister has them sometimes. It'll pass."

"Edward!" the colonel tried again, and Sheska caught a brief glimpse of Ed before the Major General blocked her view.

The Fullmetal Alchemist's eyes were closed, and he was shaking all over.

Just like her.

"What is that?"

Sheska watched as the master sergeant turned, then picked up the ball-sized tank behind him. He turned it over, looking at it from all angles before shrugging. "I don't know, sir."

"Find out." He switched his attention to her without ever actually moving. "Sergeant, get on the horn. I want every available unit deployed in the city looking for Alphonse Elric. Have the construction sites checked as well."

She just nodded, almost glad to tear her eyes away from the convulsing alchemist.

Please be okay, Edward.

- x -

Stuttgart, 1927

He dodged the kick easily, not following it up with an elbow strike to the guard's knee though he ached to. Proving his name was one thing; breaking the limbs of soldiers just following orders was something else entirely.

The guard planted the foot awkwardly on the ground, almost falling out of the guardhouse, and the hurricane lamp splattered some light on his name badge – Schultz, F. Unfortunately, not one of his students. He'd been sort of hoping George would be working the shift, but it couldn't be helped.

"What are you, some kind of monkey?"

Alphonse let his eyes flash, tilting his chin up arrogantly in his best impression of Roy Mustang. It seemed to impress the military back in Amestris, and things were no different here. "My name is Fritz Einheart, and my rank is sergeant. I believe that outranks a mere corporal." He tried for a derisive expression. "Remove yourself from my way immediately, Herr Schultz."

The corporal seemed to hesitate, but just for a moment. "My orders are to let no one pass, handed down from the general himself. I believe that outranks a mere sergeant."

Well, he'd tried. "Tell your superior officer-" He never broke his tone, nor the words, but simply struck the man in the middle of his chest with his outstretched hand.

"That I respectfully overrule his orders," he finished, giving the guard enough time to collapse before planting a foot in his face. "I'm sorry," he added quietly, striding past the guardhouse with its now unconscious inhabitant and vaulting the waist-high road gate. It was a little past two am, so there wasn't going to be much traffic through this little-used entrance, but sooner or later the corporal would be missed.

Damn this rain.

Al shook his head in irritation as the heavy, steady rain continued to drip down his bangs into his face. Now that he'd been living with Ed for a while, and he'd gotten back his memories, he had less of a desire to completely emulate his brother. This had resulted in his current haircut, which was still longer than most of the country's military men wore it, but could be braided to the back of his head to pass inspection. Unlike his brother, the esteemed Doctor Russell Tringham, he actually had to pass inspection.

He had to do a lot of things he wasn't particularly comfortable with, and despite his posting as a permanent physical trainer, he was being sent on more and more missions. A few had been simple observations of his best-trained teams, but three night ago –

He shivered as the icy rain drove itself beneath the heavy woolen collar of his uniform jacket, and continued loping towards the main building. He was afraid an all-out run would draw too much attention, but it wouldn't be at all odd to see a soldier jogging through this sludge. It took far too much time to cross the gravel alcove and approach the side of the huge building, and it was sheer luck that the first window he came to was unlocked.

He pushed the single-paned, inward-folding window and slipped through it, feet landing squarely on a desk covered in papers. Unfortunately, due to his difference in rank with his brother, he hadn't actually ever been to Edward's laboratory. He knew where it was, of course – Ed had drawn him a detailed diagram of the building in such a case as this.

The problem was that Al wasn't at all sure Ed was actually in his laboratory anymore. Waiting forty-eight hours after a communication had been a bad idea. Ed could be halfway across the country by now, and if he got caught breaking into this facility –

Then again, could it really house what nii-san suspected? If so, why was there a window open in the middle of November?

Suddenly suspicion, Al crouched on the desk. He didn't see or hear any alarm he might have set off, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The office was dark, and the cloud cover completely hid the moon, so the only light was leaking in under the main door. There were no shadows falling across that strip of light, no indication that anyone was out there, but he hesitated just the same.

Well, just because he wasn't a doctor didn't mean that there weren't sergeants stationed in this building. Surely he could roam the halls without being immediately set upon. Even if he revealed who he was, who would blame a younger brother for wanting to surprise his older, hard-working brother with early birthday wishes?

He shook the water off his head again, crossing the room quietly to stand beside the door, listening. All he could hear was the hum of the electric lights in the outside hallway. No voices. No footsteps.

If all went well, Ed's lab was just down this hallway, at the very end. It would probably have a guard, and therein was the only problem. Someone would notice they were no longer stationed outside the room.

Of course, if they were stationed outside the room, nii-san could have snuck out. Clearly if he could leave, he would have. Or if he wanted to leave . . .

Again Alphonse hesitated. He'd always been more worried about their being found out, but what if Ed's lack of communication had to do with the fact that he'd finally been added to the team studying the uranium bomb? What if he was no longer allowed to send written communication outside of the facility, and Mary Marguerite was no longer his secretary?

If that was the case, he'd have to know where it was. And they'd get it, together, and get out. Two am on a rainy night was better than nothing.

Carefully, Al edged open the door. He was right; no one was in the hallway, at least not the limited amount he could see. Whistling tunelessly and quietly, he marched out of the office, being sure to pull the door shut behind him, spun on his heels smartly, and marched quietly down the hall.

It was the length of the building, and he was slightly relieved to see that there were indeed two guards posted outside nii-san's door. That probably meant he was still in it, and if it didn't, then surely they'd know where he was. He freed the stationary from his inside jacket pocket, making certain it had not gotten wet in his jaunt through the rain.

Just like we planned, nii-san.

The hallway seemed to grow longer the more of it he covered, yet somehow all too soon he was spinning on his heels, facing the two soldiers. They hadn't responded to his approach, although that lab was the only thing at that end of the hallway, and both turned dark eyes on him. Dark-haired as well.

Damn. They were going to give him a hard time.

He saluted smartly, pleased when the guard on the right followed suit.

"I have an urgent communiqué for Herr Tringham," he said authoritatively.

The guard regarded him for a moment. "From whose office is your communiqué issued, sergeant?"

At least the stolen uniform fit well enough to fool soldiers in proper lighting. "From the office of General Walther, sir!"

The second one looked him over, then raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did nothing. The speaking officer just narrowed his eyes.

"When was this communiqué released to you?"

Uh-oh.

Al dropped his eyes slightly, then squared them and swallowed particularly loudly. "Yesterday afternoon, sir!"

The officer's eyes continued to narrow. "Yet you deliver it now, at a time when all decent Germans are in their beds? What is the meaning of this delay!?"

Alphonse licked his lips, trying for a subservient look. "I have no excuse, sir-"

"You think you can get away with anything, don't you, Aryan scum!" the officer spat. "Looked upon favorably just because of your hair! Which is longer than regulation length!"

Alphonse reached up automatically to tuck his bangs back into the tiny wool cap, but the officer batted his hand down. He allowed it, letting his eyes travel to the floor.

So Walther knew that nii-san had been moved out of the laboratory. Which meant that nii-san had been right.

General Walther did have Thule connections. And he had the bomb.

So was Edward's apparent absence from his lab a good sigh or a bad one?

"Doctor Tringham cannot receive messages from a soldier that has behaved so irresponsibly!" the officer continued his dressing-down. "His research is important to the furtherment of the German cause and he cannot be disturbed! You will report back to your offices immediately and personally inform the General of your failure to deliver his communiqué!"

Al nodded dumbly, then saluted smartly, without making eye contact, and spun on his heels. He was allowed to go about four steps before the second officer called out.

"Oh, Sergeant Einheart?"

He stopped in his tracks, listening. He could take the two of them out if they chose to take him into custody, and stash them in his brother's lab, but their absence would be noted much faster than the guard at the perimeter gate. And if Walther really did have the uranium bomb, and nii-san had been with it since yesterday afternoon at the latest and not managed to spirit it away –

"You should be more careful. My sister will wonder why her fiancée chose not to wear his engagement ring on duty this evening."

His heart sank, but his voice was light. "I am afraid his Lieutenant has confused me with another Fritz Einheart. I have never proposed to a lady, sir."

One of the guards snickered. "I believe that is the first truth you've spoken," he sneered. "You're under arrest, 'sergeant.' Drop your sidearm and stand ready to be detained."

Al concealed a grimace as he complied.

It looks like I'll be seeing your lab anyway, nii-san. I hope you had time to leave me a clue.

- x -

Amestris, 1917

It wasn't hard to find the actual site of the incursion. The problem had been finding a way down the rubble that wouldn't result in broken limbs.

Riza had to admit to herself that they wouldn't have been able to manage it as quickly as they did if not for Alex Armstrong's assistance. As transmuting rock was one of his specialties, she didn't care that they were actually descending a staircase of flexing images of Armstrong himself, his massive palms flat and parallel with the sky, forming perfect stairs. He was able to wind quite a few of them with a single strike, and while at first she'd been cautious, she'd soon thrown that to the wind.

It was obvious the enemy had fled.

A few animated suits of armor were still struggling to get up to the battle above, but she and Havoc made quick work of them before they'd had a chance to take more than a shot or two. She was trying not to be visibly shocked by the size of this city, hidden beneath Central for hundreds of years, all in a plot to transmute a Philosopher's Stone . . .

Would the Fuhrer have tried the same mistake twice, if he'd been given the chance? If he hadn't been found out by Alphonse Elric and defeated by the colonel?

Thoughts of the colonel brought her sharply back to reality, and Riza Hawkeye glared down at the roaring golden square some six hundred feet below them. Their method of a perimeter stairway was going to take them low enough, but the gate-like opening was located almost in the center of the city, so after that they'd have to take the streets. Assuming there was no enemy lying in wait, it would take about a half-hour to reach the thing, and then –

Then what? How on earth were they going to post guards on something like . . . like this? Should they destroy it, or leave it open in the hopes that Alphonse Elric might use it to return?

Was the enemy defeated, or were they merely amassing more troops? Should they send representatives through this gate?

Was that what the armored men in Lior had passed through? That had crushed them? If so, was a vehicle like the one that had come through required for safe passage? Could Alphonse use one to return?

"Breda."

Heymans had been silent throughout their journey, and he hopped surefootedly to the hand she was perched on. She didn't even glance at him.

"Our radios won't work down here. Go back to the surface and relay what we've seen to Command. When you receive orders –"

"I'll write 'em on a piece of paper and tie it to a rock," he supplied. "Be careful."

She finally looked at him, uniform jacket still unbuttoned and revealing his sweat-soaked undershirt. His mouth was frowning, but his eyes were very soft. "I'll let you know what Kain found," he added, then turned and started back up.

Hawkeye just nodded briskly. There was no time for this. She'd been kicking herself for the past two years regarding the amount of time she'd wasted crying over him when he hadn't been dead in the first place. She would waste none of that time now, not if he was injured, just waiting for medical attention –

"Havoc, you and I will continue down to sweep the buildings for any remaining enemy."

Jean just nodded, taking a puff on his cigarette before sighing. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Armstrong – damn, it's weird calling you mister."

The giant Armstrong smiled, seeming to almost sparkle despite the dim and the dust. "Alchemy is for the people, Mr. Havoc! A great man named Edward Elric reminded me of it!" He paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should make a statue to him in Lior . . ." Then he puffed up his chest, and flung his fists towards the ground.

Fifteen more repetitions occurred before they made it to the ground.

It was obvious the earthquakes had begun from this place. Water stood where it wasn't meant to be standing, and the earth was badly cracked. The roaring gate provided most of the light in the place, reflecting from what was left of the ceiling of the great cavern. Much like the city above, this city was made from shining white rock, and she could tell by the architecture it was over a hundred years old.

She'd read the reports when Edward had disappeared and Rose had brought the young, unrecognizable Alphonse Elric to Central. But to see it with her own eyes . . . she could have, years ago. But she wanted nothing to do with this place.

This place where so many had died.

Where he'd died. Died to bring back his little brother.

And Roy Mustang had never been the same.

The idea that this place had claimed Alphonse, too . . .

"Spread out," she ordered in a hushed tone. "Keep one hundred yards from the enemy gate at all times." She thought about warning them of the possibility of Ishabalites still living here, but it occurred to her exactly who she was talking to, and it seemed redundant. Armstrong headed towards the larger of the buildings, probably the town square, and Havoc agreeably cut right. That left her the path straight down the middle.

From her vantage point, she could now see the ruined stairway that she was supposed to have used, cut into the rock so it couldn't be seen from above. Armstrong's stairway of himself was nearly on top of it, actually, so they cut an elaborate ribbon through the surrounding stonework. She wondered where it eventually had spat out above the city. She was sure the reports had said, because the military would obviously be watching the pedestrian exits.

She just hadn't wanted to know. Didn't want to walk up to one accidentally one night and be tempted to enter.

This was a cursed place.

Riza shook her head quickly, scanning the empty streets as she proceeded towards the enemy's inroad. It must have been much quieter before the enemy had destroyed the ceiling of the chamber. She could still faintly hear Central above. A good portion of their city had collapsed in, and some of the streets were rendered completely impassable. She was able to walk about a mile before it became apparent that her route to the gate was effectively blocked. She was considering taking to the roofs when she caught motion.

She pulled her Browning without thought, leveling it. Whoever it was, they were too small to be a suit of armor. They were much shorter than Armstrong, and seemed to be weaving in and out of the rubble as though they were disoriented, or lost.

She kept him in her sights only a moment before she started to run. Of course. Buildings collapsed, and likely had citizen inside them. If any of the inhabitants of the blocks that had fallen were still alive – they'd have no idea where they were. Logistics of handling survivors crowded out all other thoughts, and she was almost on top of him before she realized it.

"Identi –" He stumbled more towards the center of the avenue, catching himself on a piece of what had once been a wall, and her words died in her throat.

She didn't need to see the patch of white on his hand to know who he was.

His uniform jacket was gone. Just – gone. The shirt beneath it had been partially torn away, and two of the angry red scars the Fuhrer had given him were visible. He was covered in filth, either from the explosion or whatever method he'd used to get down to the city. The hair on the back of his head was matted in a manner suspiciously like dried blood, but other than stumbling he appeared to be okay. It looked like the glove on his right had was completely intact.

He could still perform alchemy. Not that she was certain he was in a state to.

He didn't turn at the sound of her voice. He didn't react at all. He simply pushed wearily off of the rubble, one foot seeming to fall in front of the other as he headed towards the center of the city.

Towards the gate.

"Colonel." It wasn't loud enough to be heard, and she tried again as she broke into a run. "Colonel!"

He didn't turn, didn't slow. He didn't respond to her at all until she grabbed his shoulder.

"Colonel Mustang!"

His right hand whipped across his body, catching her wrist, and she found herself staring at his left hand, still at his side, the remaining part of the glove pressed between his fingers in a very familiar gesture. She'd grabbed his left shoulder, thoughtlessly, and she realized belatedly he'd have to completely turn to see her, she'd approached him on the side of his bad eye –

He swayed, and she strengthened her grip on his shoulder as he finished the turn. For a moment, she was staring at someone she hadn't seen since the Ishbal slaughter. A totally flat eye, framed with matted black hair, nothing indicating there was an actual human being staring back at her.

Then it widened almost comically.

"Hawkeye?" he called hoarsely.

"Colonel," she responded. It was the only thing she could think to say.

How had he survived? How had he beaten her down here, in his condition? What was he doing?

His visible eye was dilated badly, and seemed to twitch slightly and rapidly back and forth, a sure symptom of dizziness. Some of his hair was singed, and a thin trail of blood ran from his left temple. He swayed again, this time catching himself without her help, and very suddenly he released her wrist. His turn had brought his face within inches of hers.

Startled, she started to take a step back when he continued. "I can't hear. Anything." His voice was only a croak. "Has anything else come through that gate?" He was staring with a single-minded determination – at her lips.

Hawkeye froze, then spoke slowly and exaggerated the words. "No sir. Breda is radioing Central with the location of the gate. Havoc and the Strong Arm Alchemist are with me. What are your orders?"

It took him longer than it should have to decipher what she said. "Alex Armstrong . . . is here?"

She just nodded. She wasn't surprised he was temporarily deaf, considering the fact that he'd caught himself – successfully – with that explosion.

He was alive.

Roy Mustang was alive and standing in front of her.

"Where is he?"

Hawkeye hesitated only a second. Shouting would give her position away, but it was also the fastest way to summon them. She took a respectful step away from the colonel, then took a deep breath and bellowed, "Armstrong! Havoc! I've found the colonel!"

He stared at her a second, blinking almost owlishly. Then he smirked.

"Cover me," he grated out, and then turned and started down the street.

- x -

Author's Notes: Well, geez, I will just not get on with this story, will I. I guess it's going to be four parts. I really doubt even I can drag it on past that. It's probably worth noting at this point that Earth and Amestris are not on the same calendar year. Canonically, Ed was born in 1899 in Amestris, and the movie took place in 1917 in Amestris. (Calculated by the fact that Ed states he's eighteen in Conqueror of Shamballa.) The movie also gives the subtitle "Munich, 1923." Therefore, Earth is six years ahead of Amestris. I'll explain the discrepancy in the last chapter.

You know, considering this thing has been posted only a little over twenty-four hours, can I just say that I'm astonished how many hits it's gotten? Thank you all for the faves and reviews! Or, I guess review . . . pretty, lovely review. Yes you are! Yes you are! Hmm. I'd LOVE to be able to make that plural, but admittedly I totally wrote this fic for me, just because the movie ticked me off that much. I'm glad to see you guys are getting a kick out of it!

I have no beta, so if you notice anything like typos, missing words, totally wrong things, let me know!