Notes: Thanks for reviewing, Horselvr4evr123, soulcorsOnManga, theflamefangirl and XxForest-DragonxX!:D I'm glad most of you are liking it so far, considering, like Forest-Dragon said, it's pretty intense. I found it funny that if this is like Assassin's Creed because I've never played the game before! :p

This chapter came out a lot faster because I'm stuck with no Internet this long weekend. I felt so cruel writing this. Poor Roy. The good news is, we're almost done with this first segment of the story. I hope you enjoy (sort of) the last bit of our Colonel's stay at the facility. (even though I have to admit, reading about people suffering isn't really that fun… unless you're like me. Muahahaha!)

So here we go.

Chapter Three: Like Ice

Two months. Two months had passed since he was thrown into this place. Mustang had drawn ticks on the wall of his room starting from his second week. He hadn't noticed how quickly they accumulated, how they doubled and then tripled in number. The days he spent with Snake seemed much shorter than the one he'd passed doing the same workout routines… Impossibly, his old life in Central had begun to fade from his memory as if it was a part of a faraway dream. It was something from another life, another world. He occasionally had dreams where he could have sworn he'd heard Hawkeye telling him to wake up. But even those became less and less frequent… It was impressive how effective gruelling daily routines were at brainwashing. Somehow they took away the ache he felt for home, for his work, for his subordinates. He no longer felt much. He didn't even feel any kind of urge to escape or get out. Roy had given up all hope of running away a long time ago. He'd never tried but he somehow knew that resistance to his captors was futile.

Meanwhile he continued training for his unknown purpose. Frankly, he still had no idea why he was going through all this. Several times, he'd half-heartedly asked Snake about the subject, not expecting any straight answers and not getting any. Anyway, he was rather busy with the various tasks he was given every day. Mustang had to admit that his lessons were becoming more and more interesting. They were of great variety, like scaling walls and buildings, managing vicious guard dogs, and even things like lip reading or changing gaits.

Today he'd been continuing to learn how to fight in complete darkness. It had started with exercises like aiming in the general direction of his opponent, simply by listening and feeling. They also taught him to memorize his surroundings as well as possible. At first, Mustang had thought it was quite impossible. It had taken him ages to connect with his targets. He struggled to tell apart the sound of his own breathing and others'. It was so difficult. However, under Snake's skilled instruction, he improved quickly. His eyes adjusted to the dark faster than it used to, almost developing a photogenic memory for its surroundings; his ears were able to tune into small noises like breathing or the rustling of clothes. He could feel the presence of someone else in the dark room with him. In no time he was sparring with other trainees in pitch blackness, although with less comfort than someone like Snake.

Over the course of the two months, Roy had gained an incredible amount of knowledge, but he was yet to learn anything about his mentor, Snake. It was obvious that the white-masked man was something like his private tutor. They spent many hours a day together and Roy probably knew Snake's eyes and voice better than anyone, but he had still never seen the other man's face under that mask. Like everything else, however, Mustang didn't think much of it. He'd also noticed that he seemed to be one of the very few humans in the facility that had a naked face. All those masked people no longer made him curious, for it was such a commonplace thing.

Snake was a good teacher. He was patient and wise, although he was sometimes quite mocking. Surprisingly, he also seemed had a sharp sense of humour, unlike the monotone personalities of everyone else in the facility. His sarcastic comments were often enough to give Mustang another burst of energy to finish whatever he had been ordered to do. From his daily sessions, Mustang could tell that Snake was a middle-aged man, who was also definitely a seasoned combatant and an expert on generally everything there was to know. Perhaps he'd been a soldier or something of the sort? Gradually Roy developed what was rather like a grudging respect for his mysterious mentor.

More days passed. Roy Mustang had been transformed into a completely different person. The youthful, boyish energy in his face was gone. He was a lean and muscular predator, always alert; his fierce black eyes could probably stare down a tiger. But those black orbs were emotionless and hollow otherwise. He'd become a dog of his captors, wordlessly and thoughtlessly following their every order. He could probably take more physical punishment than anyone else in this world. However Roy had no idea they had more in store for him.

When no one came to fetch him in the morning like always, Mustang could immediately sense that something different was going to happen this day. He waited patiently, sitting cross-legged on the floor, meditating like he often did with Snake. On a stool beside him was his battered and tarnished State Alchemist watch, its battery long dead. It was his painful and only reminder of who he was, of who he used to be…

There was a knocking at his door. He opened one of his closed eyes. "Come in."

Surprisingly, it was not a masked person. In fact, it was a perfectly normal-looking blonde boy who must have been not much older than Edward Elric. He even looked like he'd have emotions…. Strange. Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Snake wants you." How thin the kid's voice sounded compared to the supervisors he was used to hearing.

"Why? He could've come himself."

"I don't know. He wants you." The boy sounded nervous. Was that a bad sign? Roy didn't know.

"Fine." He got to his feet. He was in his black sleeveless shirt and pants, the same uniform he'd been wearing for the past few months. "Well, lead the way."

The boy led him through some hallways and rooms, all places Roy had been through before. But they rounded a corner, bringing Roy to a refreshingly new door, one that looked oddly like the entrance of his own office in Central. Damn it. Stop feeling. Stop feeling.

The boy knocked on the door, twice. "It's open," came the reply, which Mustang recognized as a new voice that was not Snake, but it didn't have the flatness of a supervisor, either. The boy opened the door for him, and he went inside. It was a room that contained a large rectangular table. Seated there was Snake, and at the head of the table was a maskless stranger.

Mustang had been taught to make analyzing people a habit. He looked at the stranger's face and posture, immediately starting to collect information. He was a pale-haired man with a strong jawline. Despite his hair colour Roy could tell that he wasn't very old at all, no more than thirty-five. He had dark glasses, a scarred face and a large cigar. The glasses – perhaps he didn't desire to have his expression read? The scars showed experience in battle or some kind of dangerous business; the cigar obviously meant that he was wealthy to some extent and held a position of power. That expensive-looking suit that he was wearing indicated the same thing… The man looked physically strong also, seeing his size and build…

"Ah, I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Mustang!" The man rose and held out his hand. Roy shook it mechanically. Snake hadn't moved; he was just looking in his pupil's direction with those iron eyes of his.

"And who may you be, sir?" Roy inquired. In truth, he was actually curious. He somehow figured that he should be respectful to the man. Along with the boy who had come for him, this man's face was the only one he'd seen since he was brought here.

"Forgive my horrible manners. I am Tyson MacDougall. Anderson over there works for me." Anderson? It only took a moment for Roy to realize who this MacDougall character meant. If Snake worked under this man, did that mean that MacDougall was the man in charge of the entire facility? It was perfectly possible… he certainly did look wealthy enough to run a place like this… But strangely, MacDougall had a friendly way of talking, despite his rough voice and exterior. He was almost normal. Except for the fact that his face hardly moved when he was speaking – Roy wasn't sure whether it was the sunglasses or something else, but his expression was impossible to read. He couldn't tell whether MacDougall was acting or not.

"It's Snake, sir, not Anderson," came Snake's rather bored voice.

Ignoring this, MacDougall continued. "How have the past months been for you, Mr. Mustang?"

It was the stupidest question that could possibly be asked. Instead of saying so, Roy replied simply, "Fine, sir."

"Good, good. I'm glad our program hasn't been too hard on you, like for many other men, who… we have discharged." Knowing this place, that probably meant that they'd been killed. Probably. "Anyways, since we don't have much time on our hands, why don't we just get straight to the point. You must be wondering why I called you here today, Mr. Mustang. The reason is because I'm highly pleased with your progress. You've vastly improved on all aspects from the time you first arrived here. Anderson and I believe you're ready for the next stage of the program. We're going to have you working in the field soon."

"In the field, sir?" Why did Mustang feel a strange sense of foreboding when he heard that?

"Yes, Mr. Mustang. But before that you'll have to pass a small test of courage and strength. Please follow me. You as well, Anderson." MacDougall waved a hand, motioning for them to follow. Roy, with a glance at Snake, did as he was told.

They went through several familiar halls before reaching their destination, which Roy recognized as a room he'd been in before. For a moment he strained to remember; he then realized that it was where he'd first been trained to use pistols and rifles. The battered targets were still there in the shooting range. They hadn't been switched since Roy had used it… There were holes in the exact places he remembered putting bullets in. Roy automatically swept his eyes across the room, picking up any details that might be significant. He didn't need to look far. In the opposite end of the room, he saw a forlorn heap that he recognized to be a bound person. His eyes narrowed at it. He was liking this situation less and less; he stole a glance at MacDougall and Snake.

"What is this, sir?"

Before MacDougall said anything, Snake commanded, nodding towards a nearby table, "Pick a weapon. We don't have time."

Mustang looked to the indicated table. On it were a few combat knives, two pistols, a sword and a cable - the kind he'd grown quite fond of when fighting - but what were these for? What did they want him to do now? He was growing increasingly uneasy. This didn't look good at all. Hesitating only briefly, Roy reached down and took up one of the guns. It felt heavy and firm in his hand, and also, very cold.

"Now, come over here." Snake and MacDougall went to the corner, to the man on the floor. Mustang followed them. Snake bent down and undid the man's bonds; the man lifted his shaggy brown head, revealing a gaunt face and wild blue eyes. For some reason, Roy's stomach tightened unpleasantly when their eyes locked for a moment. It was as if… the man was full of hatred towards him. It was odd, since Roy was quite sure that they hadn't met before…

"What is this?" Roy repeated, a steely note having entered his voice.

"Kill this man." Snake said bluntly.

Awfully enough, Roy had to admit that this didn't surprise him all too much. Roy stared at the pistol in his hand for a moment, then at the person he had just been ordered to murder. He took a step back and shook his head. "No," he said quietly, his lips barely moving. "I won't do it."

Snake, in his usual laid-back manner, jut sighed, while MacDougall simply seemed interested. "Now, now, Mr. Mustang," Snake was speaking to Roy as if he was a misbehaving child. It was quite infuriating. "I've already let you know that we're running short on time."

"I'm not going to do it!" Roy's voice rose. Vaguely he saw that the previously bound man was now on his feet, tall and lanky. Mustang saw the anger in those blue eyes, just like in the crimson eyes of the countless Ishvalans he'd killed in the war. It was exactly the same. He didn't want to do this again. God, no, not this again… No… Roy's stomach was churning.

The man wasn't moving. Just waiting, never taking his eyes off of Roy.

"I've always noticed that stubbornness in you, Mr. Mustang…" Snake sounded disappointed. "Always doing things the hard way, aren't you?" He reached into his pocket and drew something out of it. Roy saw that it was a small and square piece of paper – a photograph. Roy's eyes widened when he saw the person in it.

"You bastard!"

"I thought we should let you know that we do know many things about you, Mr. Mustang. We've been watching you for a while. Yes, we are even aware of your beautiful second-in-command, Risa Hawkeye -"

"Her name is Riza!" Mustang roared, losing his temper for the first time in weeks. He felt himself trembling from fury like a leaf in the wind. "Don't you lay a hand on her! Don't you lay a hand on her!" How the hell did they find out about Riza? Did that mean that they knew his entire squad? Havoc, Falman, Breda and Fuery? Roy hadn't felt this much fear in such a long time.

"It's not hard to pull the trigger, Mustang," MacDougall said, rather unhelpfully. "You've burned innocents to death before. Why so reluctant?"

Roy's gun hand was shaking hard. If he didn't obey this time, it might cost him his own life, as well as his subordinates… It was obvious that only death would be the penalty. He couldn't let that happen… There was no way out of this situation, no way out…

Even better, the man was now charging towards him with an ugly knife in his hands. That didn't give Mustang much of a choice. How the hell did that happen?

Shoot or die. Shoot or die.

His breathing was coming in short gasps. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, almost suffocating him. He was hearing the cries and curses of his Ishvalan victims ringing in his ears. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never do this again… he'd sworn... He'd promised himself that he would get to a position where he didn't need to follow stupid orders. He'd failed pretty badly.

Barely aware of Snake and MacDougall watching him like a lab rat, at the last possible moment, Roy shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger. At this range he couldn't miss. The man's scream etched itself into his memory.

fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma

Every day, they made him kill someone.

It was as if they were training him for something. At first Roy couldn't figure out what it was. Every day, they brought him to random people that were obviously prisoners or something of the sort; and every day, they forced Mustang to pull the trigger. He was murdering someone every day. It was a thought Roy couldn't wrap his head around. It couldn't be real. But it was. He was actually doing it. He was being blackmailed and threatened, but he was doing it. Around the tenth person he had to shoot through the head, he stopped feeling. He'd somehow muted the voices he heard inside him. Somehow he pretended not to see the raw fear and hate in his victim's eyes… For the first time Mustang realized how cruel his captors were. This was worse than anything else they'd put him through so far. They were teaching him not to feel. They were teaching him how to replace his heart with a lump of cold ice.

Roy spent most of his days in a trancelike state. He wasn't exactly sure when they'd called for him again. This time it was only him and MacDougall in the conference room, where they had met for the first time.

"We believe you're ready." It was the first thing that MacDougall said when he opened his mouth. Mustang said nothing; he continued to have his eyes fixed on the white-haired man. "We're going to let you out. You'll be working in the field."

Roy wasn't sure what to say to that. They were letting him out? There was bound to be a catch. Here it comes, he though as MacDougall breathed in to speak again.

"You are going to be our top assassin."

Just like that. Like a punch to the stomach. Roy choked. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It'll be a difficult life. During the day you'll be Colonel Roy Mustang, working in his office in Central –"

"I've been gone for three months. You think no one would have noticed?"

"We've taken care of everything. For the past three months, you were on a diplomatic mission in Drachma. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye has taken over your duties for the time being; you are scheduled to return the day after tomorrow." MacDougall explained a matter-of-factly. Mustang closed his eyes for a moment. Everything had been planned… It had all been planned… "As I was saying, you will be living your ordinary life during the day. In the evenings, we will present you with a target. You will hunt him down and exterminate him."

Mustang attempted to digest this new information. "But why? What's the point of all this? Are you another crime lord wanting to be at the top of the underworld or something?"

For the first time, disgust showed up on MacDougall's face. "Don't insult me, Mr. Mustang. My syndicate's motives are simple. We wish to undermine the Bradley government."

Of all the things Roy had expected to hear… This was definitely not one of them "What?"

"By killing off his top officers, one by one, we will gradually render the Furher helpless. After weakening his rule over Amestris, our final task would be to kill Bradley himself, of course. That will be your mission. You will be going after all of his generals, as well, of course. When it's all over, Amestris will be freed from its tyrant."

"Are you crazy? You think an endeavour like this'll actually work?"

"We've come close before. However most of our previous assassins have been… eliminated on the job."

"Why are you telling me that? Do you think that'll actually change my mind?" It nearly made him laugh.

"Well, we chose you because we knew of your ambitions for bringing down Bradley. Yes, we have knowledge of your goal of becoming Furher, Mr. Mustang, and we also know of your hate for Bradley. We assumed that you would be the perfect man for our syndicate."

"…how? How did you find out about everything?"

"We have our sources."

Mustang, still unmoving, sank into a long silence. He finally said, "That criminal the police was after last year – the one that exclusively killed people in the government. He was one of yours?"

"You're just as sharp as I've been told. Yes. His codename was Raven. He died on his ninth mission."

"Raven?" What was it about the word that made Mustang want to taste it on his own tongue?

"I'm glad you like the name, because at nights, it'll be yours from now on." MacDougall handed something to Roy, who accepted it automatically. It was a featureless mask with a long slit for a mouth, quite similar to Snake's, except that it was a pure black instead of white. There were several gashes and dents on its surface. Running his fingers over them, Mustang figured that he wasn't the mask's first owner.

As if reading his thoughts, MacDougall added, "That belonged to the previous Raven and several others before him."

Roy looked back p at him. "And you're saying that if I agree on this, I'll be able to leave this godforsaken place? I'll be able to live my life again?"

MacDougall corrected him. "Half your life, Mr. Mustang."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I suppose we'll keep you here until you change your mind," MacDougall shrugged.

There was no other thought in Roy's head. I just want to get out of here. I'll do anything to get out. Let's just do as they say… we're aiming for the same goal, anyways… What's the big deal? The big deal was that he was going to have to take the part of an outlaw, a murderer, for half of his days. But he wasn't thinking of that. It didn't really matter to him right now. He just wanted to see his subordinates again. Hell, he even wanted to see that brat Fullmetal…

"So, what do you say, Mr. Mustang?"

It seemed like ages before Roy could finally bring himself to speak. His tongue felt so heavy. "I'm going do it." He took another deep breath, and repeated, "I'll do it."

TBC. Reviews please!