Before October

Hi everyone! Happy Easter weekend to you all. Spring has come around already...(just realized this fact).

Thank you to my fabulous beta Ace724 for her work on maintaining order upon this confusing bundle of words ;)

I'll be adding some context to the start of chapter one soon - just to give a head's up of what type of story line Before October is following.

For now though, I hope you enjoy and see you with the next update!

Chapter 11: The Academy Exam

Roy heard the innate pounding of his heart, and almost imagined the courses of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He swallowed his trepidation, although he had learnt to disguise his emotions as a child behind an indifferent expression. He stared at the floor, imagining that the dark ground below was waiting to swallow him up whole. He and Maes had just entered the back entrance to the military campus and as a result, the doors were being closed soundlessly behind them. The watery spring sunlight was drooping away like a wilting flower, leaving the recruits encompassed in an eternal darkness. This was supposed to be the one of the most prestigious military academies in the world and they couldn't afford lighting.

The young alchemist took the opportunity to hold his breath and reassure himself that everything was going to be alright.

But his life depended on this. One mistake, one fatal error-

Nassor would have to resort to removing him from the training schedule-

And what if his father discovered-

Flash.

Lights flickered on temperamentally and Roy had to squint, his line of vision a misty fog with blurred outlines of people and walls. The air was warm around him and as he shifted on his feet, he bumped into another recruit on his left who was not Maes. Roy blinked furiously again like he would do when he was struggling to stay awake when caffeine had failed him late at night. And like the miraculous ideas that could spring to his caffeine-deprived brain, his foggy vision started to clear. He inspected his surroundings with a quick swivel of his head, messy black hair spilling across his face, and saw boxes upon boxes upon boxes. They were in a cramped and claustrophobic place, likely littered with spiders.

Someone sneezed, confirming Roy's suspicions – there was dust sprinkled everywhere like powder. He could acutely hear each drawing breath, each anxious exhale from the people penned up around him.

But why in the damn Hell had the soldier brought the newest recruits for the Amestrian military service into a storage room? It was like the storage cupboard under the stairs back in East City.

"How do you feel about all of this?" Maes whispered by his side. Roy nearly yelped in shock; it was as if Maes had become silent and melted into shadow; he had nearly forgotten about the man's presence.

"What do you think you fool?" Roy hissed back to which Maes responded with a snort of laughter. Roy, perplexed, turned to look at the green-eyed man, who was toying with his watch gently.

"It's just that you appear to look so…smug," Maes chortled and wiped his face, his glasses falling past the crook of his nose, "When in fact you're terrified. You can hide your face behind a reflection."

Roy's eyes widened in surprise – he expected everyone around him knew that he was terrified. But did he actually look…smug? He smiled genuinely, and the waves of fear seemed to subside into a calm blankness. Maes chuckled lightly by his side again before a door slamming shut brought Roy back to his senses.

There was another door several feet – and about fifty people – in front of him, opposite from the one that they had entered by. The military recruits all shuffled and turned about nervously, as if tension was being stirred in the room by a massive spoon. The soldier who had directed them to the storage room had left and had been replaced by an officer. A very familiar looking officer.

She had hooded eyes like a vulture, dark and peel-like as if insects were squirming inside of their depths. Her hair was a single shade of auburn red that was cut jaggedly across her back, tied in a firm braid. She was taller than most of the military recruits, and at least four inches taller than Roy. Her stature was pure muscle – Roy could almost see her tendons flex beneath her marine blue uniform. Insignia blazed on her shoulder despite the flickering bulb light. People shirked away from her like mice running from a fox.

Like a vixen.

And that was her name. Colonel Vixen. Her red hair flashed – if her family could possess a Sigel, it would be a fox with lashing fangs leaping from a ring of fire. This woman was fire and destruction.

Roy's mind flashed. He was younger and smaller. His father's outline was blurred and so were the officers that were standing next to him and around him, like metal drawn to a magnet. Nassor's outline was no longer blurred and now Vixen's was not either. Gradually, the haunting members of his childhood were returning to the forefront of his memory.

But Roy would not be terrified. He was a Mustang but he wasn't their Mustang; he wasn't going to be ridden over like dirt. He was a recruit looking to enter the services of the Amestrian military. This was his new start. Although…could one truly ever escape from their past forever? Couldn't it become visible behind every corner that is turned?

The past was cropping up before him like a whirlwind, and faster than Roy could tell.

He dared not make a sound. Nobody dared breathe in front of the Colonel. While Nassor was hypnotic and allured the recruits into a dreamy state, everyone was fully aware of the Colonel's presence like prey cowering before a mighty beast. Make one false move, and the death blow would rattle before one's eyes.

"There are too many of you," Vixen spoke. Her eyes narrowed, gliding effortlessly across the box-like room, as if she could wheedle out the weakness from her victims. She ruled this campus as if it was her territory.

Nobody reacted. It was as if the Colonel had turned her victims to stone like the myth about the woman with serpents for hair. Roy could picture the volume the story was in but he couldn't remember her name. The Colonel could be one of her descendants nevertheless.

"This process is to ensure only the truest of recruits join our ranks," she stamped her boot to the floor, and everyone's heads snapped up to attention, "Lineup in alphabetical order. Silence is required from here on out."

Confusion fluttered like a flock of birds around the room. However, Roy and Maes simply shrugged their shoulders and moved towards the centre of the crowd – Hughes and Mustang should be close together in the order – because they knew what was going to happen. They were going to have their entrance exam right this moment. They wouldn't be allowed to explore the rest of the campus until this test had been completed, and the aim was to send most of the recruits back the way they had come.

The entrance exam would decide literally if they entered the military academy's site or not.

At the moment they were disposable – like the boxes that surrounded them. Amid the chaos of moving bodies, Roy had to swallow his pride. He was going to pass through this selection process – and due to Nassor's influence, he should make it through on a scholarship programme. However, he wanted to complete his process with his own strength. He didn't say anything to alert the Colonel. But mostly he remained silent as did everyone else because he was terrified of Vixen's fearsome power.

But as he milled beside Maes, something hit him. How did they know what alphabetical order they were supposed to be in if they weren't speaking? He shot Maes a questioning look, and he seemed to nod in mutual understanding. However, to Roy's surprise, Maes cleared his throat and turned to speak to the Colonel.

"Sir, where is the list to tick our names off for this examination?" Maes spoke fluidly and without a trace of fear in his voice; he sounded like he was politely ordering coffee in a café.

Vixen, who had positioned herself on top of a box, glared down at the miscreant who had dared speak to a superior officer. However, she leapt off the box and prowled up to stand in front of Maes, Roy by his side. Seconds passed and Roy could hear his breath catch in his throat. Next to him, a battle of the wills seemed to be continuing; Maes was staring up at the red-haired woman and Vixen returned his glare. Each second that passed became more unbearable; Roy could feel the scrutiny of the other recruits staring at him.

And suddenly, the Colonel started to laugh. She closed her eyes and laughed for a minute. Nobody dared to interrupt her, and all thoughts on ordering themselves into a line faded into cluelessness. Vixen reached into her chest pocket and brought out a military-sealed scroll. She flicked it open with a wave of her wrist and what unfolded before Roy was a list of names in alphabetical order.

Maes did not flinch, but he pulled out a pen from his pocket and reached forward to tick his name off the list.

"One of your number possesses common sense. This is the capability your military expects of you," Vixen's pleasure was short-lived, and she let the piece of paper fly free from her hands. Roy reached up to snatch it to tick his own name off next. And then the scurrying of figures pressing around him made his body pinch tightly – everyone was trying to sign their names off the list.

Even if there were around sixty recruits squeezed into this tiny compartment, this cohort was not as large as Roy had been expecting. Roy was surprised – Amestris was a large nation that needed warriors on each four of its borders but he assumed it was because it was more strategic to have fewer but dependent soldiers in their ranks rather than soldiers who were, simply put, useless.

"For those of you haven't obtained the guise about what is happening you will be sitting your entrance exam now in the Balcony. The exam will include a multiple-choice section, an essay and an in-depth scenario analysis and from commencing, it shall take two hours to complete. Each year the exam varies dramatically. There is no preparation one can complete for this," Vixen clapped her hands and the door was peeled open from behind her. It led down a corridor in which partitioned into two branches: one turning left and the other turning right.

Roy knew what this meant, but this time he would be the one to say it. "One of the exam rooms is for the State Certified Alchemy Programme application."

"Well noticed," Vixen commented flatly without bothering to make eye contact with Roy. "I assume you are one of the candidates…and this year, you are the only alchemist among our ranks."

Suddenly, the thought of being alone in an examination room without Maes was a daunting prospect. Even back in East City through Master Hawkeye's rigorous tutelage, he had had Riza to watch his back. When he was with her, he possessed an unspoken confidence that gave him the strength to be able to conquer the world and become victorious. And even though Maes Hughes was someone new in his life, Roy believed that they had forged a friendship, a bond that ran deeper than blood ties (Roy didn't want to think about his fractured relationship with his blood relatives). He had an unspoken strength granted to him. And the prospect of being alone confronting his future was incredibly jarring.

The black-haired man was pushed out of the uneven line; he made up his own line beside the jostling military candidates. However, the box room was tiny; the line had to curl around like a snake in order to accommodate the sixty recruits. Maes was among them. Roy felt partitioned, and a hole in his heart was cracking, like a rift separating his life from the rest of the recruits. Their life was training to become officers and working their way up the ranks, and while this was true for Roy's career path for the most part, his ultimate goal was becoming a State Alchemist. But first, he had to pass the S.C.A.P. exam. He had to realize that a consequence for this path he was taking was that he was the only one who could tread it.

Roy instantly thought about the intellectual conversation he had had with Master Hawkeye before he had informed his master that he was joining the military.

"If an alchemist reaches quintessence, Roy, they know the truth to form the correct decisions."

"Could I ever reach this perfect state in the world that we live in?"

Roy's mind whirled and he thought, Master, will I ever be able to reach this state of perfection?

He wasn't even a Private yet; there was a long way to go until he obtained "perfection." Roy wouldn't have believed the concept existed, but he knew that his master was coming close to completing his secret research which even his apprentice was not aware of its workings. If Berthold Hawkeye would be able to attain "perfection" after arduous years of research, the same would be able to apply to his apprentice. A lot of hard work.

That was a shame; Roy was a notorious slacker. If slacking could have been a profession, he would have become a millionaire by his mid-teens. But for now, he would have to try his best.

The clicking of shoes against the wooden floor caused Roy to lift his head and return to reality from his reverie. The line to his left was moving, and as he marched in line with Maes, who was avoiding contact with him, the recruits were finally able to leave that claustrophobic storage room behind them.

From the atrocious lighting that they had left behind, Roy was surprised to feel the tingle of sunlight against his back as he entered the corridor. As he looked up, he saw that above his head, there was an entire network of glass and runes spindling across the ceiling. Sunlight was pouring through its transparent state. The recruits had even started a nervous chatter among themselves, and Vixen did not turn around to snap at their heels like they were insubordinate dogs. Roy inhaled and almost imagined breathing in the spring air in the garden at the Hawkeye Estate while he tried to ignore the repugnant aroma of horse manure littered in Dapple's stable.

He managed a smile.

Roy wanted to whisper something to Maes, or say anything that may have been utterly irrelevant; that was what one discussed before an exam. Maes Hughes exuded an air of relaxation and patience, his glasses staring at the left junction as he moved in line with the recruits, keeping at an exact distance apart from the candidates in front and behind him. He kept his head lowered.

"Hey, Hughes!" Roy said across the void. Even if he was separated from the other recruits didn't mean that he could not call out to them.

"I'm sorry if it seems that I'm avoiding you Roy, but when I turn to face you-" and for a second Maes turned to look at Roy, and the splintering light from the Sun bounced from Maes' glasses and fired its rays into Roy's eyes. He looked away and started blinking to stop the stream tears from falling. "But alas, my glasses are an inconvenience."

"You need to write that on your office wall and say to your colleagues: 'do not fear about your worries, for mine are far greater; my glasses are an inconvenience.'" Roy could imagine that, and it made him laugh happily.

"Asshole," Maes muttered and he lowered his head even more.

"I'll see you on the other side," Roy responded – they had reached the junction, and on the right hand side, he could see the closed door waiting with his exam inside.

This was it.

"I definitely will. I have far more assorted items I need an alchemist to fix," Maes saluted in Roy's direction before the two men parted ways, one turning left and turning right. Roy didn't ruminate; his pace quickened and he moved with a determination he had not felt since leaving his beloved home behind.

Wait for me.

Smoke. Layer upon layer of smoke…made it hard to breathe…made it hard to think…she felt so giddy…

Riza Hawkeye choked on the mass of smoke swirling around her like a miniature bonfire. The basement was dark and covered with a dense fog-like smoke that seemed to want to suffocate her. Chemicals were bubbling in beakers – flames were burning weakly around the room like a magic circle. Riza had to remember to breathe. The pores on her skin had opened a long time ago and moisture was being sapped out of her body like blood to leeches. She was sweating, uncomfortable, and afraid.

Her short hair was plastered across her face, her eyes were droopy with fatigue and the only reason she was still conscious was because of her father.

Berthold Hawkeye had lost all sense of reasoning. Even in his spurts of madness, there seemed to be a coolly calculated logic behind his expression; however that frigid exterior had chipped, leaving blazing fire. Fire and fire and smoke. Her father had succumbed to the feverish excitement of his research, and when Riza tried to call out to him, she was brusquely ignored, as if she was speaking a foreign language.

But she had no energy left to speak. Her energy was being expended on remaining conscious and breathing in and out.

In and out.

She was panting faintly through the gap between her lips.

In and out and in and out.

If she focused her attention on her breathing alone, then it would be over before she knew it.

However, she knew that she had barely stepped into the inferno when her father entered her peripheral vision once again.

He was clutching his research notes like they were his children and sprawled them across the table. Riza could hardly concentrate, but she recognised the scrawling of her father's handwriting – indecipherable runes dotted the page – alchemic mysteries her brain would never be able to understand. But if through her clouded state of mind she knew one fact, it was that runes etched in blood never led to a positive outcome.

Her father was holding one sheet of paper left. It was musty and tearing at the corners and it was dripping with blood. Berthold, so detached and seemingly emotionless, was smiling serenely at the sheet of paper. His lip was bleeding, and the ends of his ratty hair had been coated a shade of crimson. Riza would have rushed to her father's side and tried to help him. She worried about his waning health, about his lack of grief for her mother, about his vain research attempts-

Except now, she didn't approach him. She was immobilised and paralyzed; fear was a powerful incentive. Her father was no longer her father…he was a feral beast and could do anything. His grey eyes were sunken husks, tired and lacking any form of reason. He started to approach her…tired? No he was fatigued.

He was fatigued of searching for an endless answer and now that he had found it-

What if he had been waiting on purpose for Roy to leave until he revealed his discovery? What if he had been waiting for Riza to be alone without her mother-

She longed for Roy's reassuring presence or for the gentle touch of Dapple's fur.

She was breathing heavily, heavier than she had been breathing before. He was coming, and the piece of paper in his hand was burning – the alchemic runes from the paper were writhing and contorting off the page. They blazed a golden orange and wandered off the page, shimmering in front of Riza's eyes like a nightmare become perpetual.

The runes spoke of power and destruction, like a heavenly power which should not have been accessible by mortals. They spoke of chaos and if they could have possessed an emotion, it would have been seething fury.

"Turn around my daughter…" Berthold whispered, his voice barely audible through the streams of smoke gliding through the air, surrounding her, suffocating her-

But Riza didn't turn around. She wouldn't turn around and surrender as easily as that. Instead she stared up at her father, trying to make eye contact with him, passively persuading him that this isn't what he wanted to do. She was his child and parents were supposed to take care of their children, even if Riza was the main carer. Her father was aloof and proud, but she loved him for his sharp tongue and wit and his dedication to the work that had been dragging him down his whole life.

However, Riza knew if Hawkeye had to make a choice between his daughter and his alchemy, he would choose-

"Now Riza – the circle's almost ready!" he spat, trails of saliva splattering on the ground. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned away in a flurry of motion. One moment he was by the bubbling flasks, cooling them down; the next he was glancing over research notes; and the next he was standing seemingly oblivious to the world, but Riza could hear him muttering under his breath.

Any hopes that Riza had of her father still having reason slipped away like sand through her fingers.

She was tied by her foot with loose hempen rope that connected to a chain in the wall. Riza held her breath and then tugged as hard as she could against the rope, feeling her skin contort and blood vessels constrict as the bite of rope dug deeper into her leg. She needed to escape as fast as she could – she needed to run to a neighbour or tell the MPs. Her father was poorly, her father was poorly-

The bottom half of her leg had already become a sickly purple colour. She could feel pins and needles dancing in the soles of her feet as she starved the cells of their blood supply. She placed her hands against the wall behind her, biting her lip, and pushed herself against the wall. And suddenly, her leg fell limp as if it had fallen unconscious, and Riza realized she must have cut off the majority of the blood supply to her leg.

She had to move faster!

Her hands were slick with sweat - and so she grabbed for a chunk in her top and ripped it off, using it as a cloth for her hands. If she would have looked in the mirror, she would have been the image of a hermit; her clothes ratty and torn – her complexion was sunken and exhausted – but that didn't mean she would ever stop fighting.

With a last tug, the chain was dragged out of the wall. Riza scanned the room deliriously, but couldn't see her father. She rummaged around the smoky darkness until she grabbed a piece of glass apparatus and used its jagged edge to free her leg from the rope. Her leg sagged uselessly to the ground, and Riza took a second of rubbing it up and down to revive the incapacitated limb.

The glass however must have snagged across her skin, because there was a delicate stream of blood flowing out of the room. Riza couldn't stay here for another moment – she turned around and-

There. In front of her. Her father. He had a piece of chalk in his hand, and his blazing alchemic runes that were dancing in the air twirled towards the ground. They flowed like a river into their correct positions, forming circles and triangles and overlapping, intertwining complex shapes. The chalk that her father had drawn on the ground acted as a map for the blazing flame-like runes.

A transmutation circle had formed below her. She tried to move but she couldn't – she was transfixed, paralyzed, as if her feet were glued to the ground. She couldn't move her torso, her arms, her neck.

She tried to find her voice, which was filled with pleading and worry, with a sternness and reluctance, with hope, "Father, you don't want to do this."

"The alchemist has no choice but to follow the Laws, Riza," Berthold spoke her name in the first time that felt like a century. He lifted his hands towards the circle, hands which were dripping in blood, and had transmutation circles etched into their surfaces, "But I must follow it. For this…is quintessence!"

Riza's world became the sickly colour of crimson-

Pain-

And darkness-

Insurmountable pain lanced across her back as if she was being branded-

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt to think.

…

Fire.

She remembered glowing reams of fire and beyond the inferno wall that blazed around her; she saw her father's eerily smile and possessed eyes glistening with madness.

Roy stretched. Two hours of he-didn't-know-what. He had expected the exam to be rigorous and challenging instead of just damn weird.

The invigilator had stepped up to him and Roy lazily waved his exam paper in the air for the man to take away.

Roy leaned back in his chair. One down, two to go.

The exam he had just completed was the same exam Maes and the other candidates had completed. They were finished; all they had to worry about now were their results. But as an alchemist entering the academy for the S.C.A.P. he had his alchemy theory and practical exam still to come.

Why didn't he just wait for a year to become a State Alchemist?

Roy had thought about it, but never really considered it. The invigilator was sorting out papers at the front of the exam room, and Roy wondered if he could sneak off to use the toilet. He glanced at the cloak and sighed. There would be another hour of exams for him until he could do that. But until the invigilator had sorted out his exams, he would have the time to think.

He wanted to be a member of the military, and not just as a State Alchemist. He didn't want to sit an exam and be awarded the role of Major with no prior experience to leadership. But by coming to the academy, he could learn the rules of proper commandment and service, although most importantly, he could find allies that would help him to protect his country.

That was what he wanted to do.

He sighed lightly, and his thoughts turned to the scenario-based exam he had completed.

One question lingered in his mind, the one he had the most difficulty answering:

You are fighting against an enemy force. They outnumber you 4:1. The terrain is grassy, boggy and flat. You suspect 80% of your forces have fallen to death or injury. An officer you are close to has fallen beside you, and the enemy is advancing on horseback with long and short-range weaponry aimed at you; at this moment they are 200 metres away from you. What do you do?

Roy should have moved his forces into a defensive position and launched a last minute offensive. However, he couldn't forget about that dying comrade and thought he was living in a terrible nightmare; he was having the sensation of déjà vu.

He shook his head and waited as the next exam was placed on his desk. The invigilator turned, bored, at the clock and incited:

"You have one hour. You may begin."