A/N: Alright guys, let's do this! Chapter 6! I hope you guys like it! Thank you those who took the time to read this story. Please review this chapter! I do appreciate it when you share your thoughts. I can always use feedback to improve.
I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. All rights go to Hiromu Arakawa.
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Not having a sensation of touch, Alphonse could deal with. Being a suit of armor, Alphonse could deal with. Heck, having a death timer on his soul, Alphonse could deal with. But this was too much! He was in Hell! All the tortures that the human race came up with could not possibly equal the situation he was in now! If he was not in multiple pieces, he might have destroyed the blood seal just to escape the torture he was being put through.
Alphonse was trapped in a crate. To be specific, the upper part of his torso, which held the blood seal, was trapped in a crate. The rest of him was packed into other boxes to completely disable him. While not painful, it was certainly uncomfortable in a psychological sense, and it was boring. So boring.
"Hello? Is anyone out there? Please let me out! I won't try anything, I swear!" Nothing. Nobody responded. Alphonse guessed that either they had lost interest in him or his captors were not supposed to talk to him. He sighed and went through the periodic table in his head for the fifteenth time, just to have something to do. "Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium, Aluminum…" The elements flowed off his non-existent tongue as easily as everyday conversation. As an alchemist, Alphonse knew the elements and all their properties by heart. It was a necessity, as the wrong combination of elements (or right in some cases coughKimbleecough) would cause an explosion or otherwise undesirable results. As Alphonse reached Zirconium, the lock on the door clicked open. He instantly stopped and strained his ears to hear what was happening.
"Come on colonel, let's go. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and it wouldn't do for you to be too tired."
"Fuck you! Where's Riza? I have to see her!"
"Tsk tsk, language. If you persist with your bad behavior, who knows what might happen to your dear lieutenant?"
"You sons of bitches! Don't you dare touch her! I won't tell you anything!"
"We'll see about that in the morning, colonel."
Colonel Mustang?! He's here too? I have to get his attention somehow! "Colonel! Help! It's me, Alphonse! I'm in the crates!"
"Alphonse?! Why are you here? What do you bastards want with him?!"
"Shut up colonel. As for you, armor boy, I had you stuffed in those crates for a reason. Be quiet. You'll get your turn soon enough. Come on colonel, your cell is waiting."
With that, another door open, closed, and locked. Alphonse's mind raced, trying to incorporate the colonel into his plans. If the colonel was also being held here, that meant that they had access to another alchemist! If he could somehow communicate with the colonel, they could surely come up with an escape plan. Then they could free Brother and lieutenant Hawkeye and get out of this place!
His mind filled with images of breaking out of the stifling crates, rescuing his brother and escaping wherever he was. But for now…
" … Niobium, Molybdenum, Technetium, Ruthenium, Rhodium, Palladium…"
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A boot to his back sent Mustang flying into a cell. He hit the ground hard, causing pain to shoot throughout his already beaten body. He groaned as he slid up against the wall, painfully trying to get up.
"This will be your home for the time being, colonel. Until such time as you see fit to give us some answers, you will stay here until called for. Take these bandages and try to patch up the woman. It wouldn't do for her to be too injured." A roll of bandages flew in and the cell door slammed shut. Footsteps faded into the distance.
"Fucking hell, my body is done. Uughh." Mustang slowly pushed himself off the floor. He walked to the door and looked through the small barred window. There were no guards in his field of view, but the window was extremely limiting. He turned around and surveyed the room for anything he could use. The Drachmans had done a very thorough job, he would give them that much. Two bedrolls lay on the floor, all cloth and no hard substances. Bolts fastened a single small sink to the ground and the wall with a small, rusty metal faucet coming out of the wall behind it. That too was securely fastened. Wood made up the small counter, laminated to prevent splintering. A light fixture glowed from within the roof behind a steel cage. There was nothing he could pull out and use as a weapon. His hands were untied, which was a saving grace, but there was nothing to use as drawing material. The ground was too hard for that. Mustang picked up the bandages and wondered what to do with them. He had no wounds.
From a dark corner came a soft gasp of pain and Mustang whirled around in surprise. A flash of blond and mahogany eyes instantly confirmed the figure's identity. "Riza! Holy shit, I am so sorry! I didn't see you! Are you alright?!"
Riza grit her teeth against the pain. She wanted to put her hands to her wounds, but they were handcuffed behind her back. "It's… it's nothing, sir. Worry about your own wounds first. Mine are mostly superficial. I'll be fine."
"Like hell you are! All I've got are bruises! Your wounds are the problem here!" She flinched at his words and Mustang immediately regretted his word choice. "I mean, I need to take care of them first. They're pretty serious. My problems can wait." He started unrolling the bandages but stopped as he noted something odd. "Hey, why'd they tie up your hands but leave mine free?"
"Probably because they need you to take care of me sir. They don't - gah - they don't want us to have any more freedom than is necessary. To bad there isn't any chalk or anything in here." She smiled grimly at that. As soon as she got her hands untied, the Drachmans would regret ever hearing her name.
"Yeah, well, I still need to bandage your wounds. Here, turn around so I can get that one." Reluctantly, Riza complied and turned so her side faced the colonel. As he began to wrap the bandage around it to stop the bleeding, he asked "Is there anything else Riza? Any other injuries I should know about?" Riza's eye twitched and she blushed at the casual use of her first name and his proximity, but she listed them for him.
"Um, one broken ankle, at least three broken ribs, some more knife wounds, the start of a black eye, and a dislocated shoulder. Again, colonel, I'm fine. Just… don't worry about me. In our situation you have more combat options available to you. You should be in as good a condition as possible." Turning away, she muttered bitterly, "I'm just a liability, sir."
"What?! First of all, we're as far from on duty as possible. You should just call me Roy. Second of all, those are not superficial injuries! Finally, do not call yourself a liability! You'll never be a burden to me and never think of yourself that way!" Mustang was beyond frustrated with his lieutenant. Why did she have to be so goddamn stubborn and selfless and just - gah! Did she always have to put him above herself? She deserved better than that. He wished that, once in a while, she would think of herself first for a change.
Riza blinked. How could he say that? She couldn't do anything in her current state. How could she be anything but a liability? All she was now was a weakness for their captors to exploit. This conversation was going nowhere. "Sir -"
"A-hem." Riza rolled her eyes.
"Roy, respectfully, this discussion is irrelevant. We should be focusing on how to escape. Do you know how to pick a lock? Maybe we can get these handcuffs off."
"Let me see. Hm, nope, sorry. I failed that part of basic actually. They sent me to Ishval without it because of my Flame alchemy." He looked at her sheepishly. Her eyes were in that are you serious half-closed position that always sent thrills down his spine.
"Damn. Well, forget that then." She bit her lip, deep in thought. "Unless there's something to scratch out a transmutation circle with, we're out of luck. Might as well get some rest. You take the bed, I'll be fine." The concrete floor was pretty uncomfortable, but she wasn't about to let Roy - no, the colonel - know that. He was a higher priority.
"Fine Hawkeye, have it your way." The look in her eyes told him he should just go along with it. He laid down on the bedroll and retreated into a dreamless sleep, where those eyes wouldn't haunt him anymore.
Central City
HQ
1200 Hours
"Lieutenant Breda? Sir? I have the reports you wanted." A painfully young private handed a stack of papers to Breda. Breda didn't glance up from his work.
"Sir? The reports?..."
"Thank you private, that will be all. Dismissed." Havoc intervened, taking the reports. The private was obviously relieved and snapped a salute.
"Sir!" He then spun on his heels and marched off. Havoc turned and shook Breda.
"Hey. Hey. Wake up, Breda. You've got reports to read. Hey! Wake up!" Breda jerked up, hand flying to the pistol on his belt before he realized where he was.
"Oh. Hey Havoc. What time is it?"
"1200 hours. Go get some food man, I'll read these reports. You've been running yourself into the ground." Havoc was feeling just as, if not more, exhausted than Breda but the large man was showing it more. There were dark bags under his eyes, his normally neat handwriting was getting messier by the minute, and he was losing weight.
"Are you sure? I can handle those." However, just like everyone else, he didn't want to admit it. Doing so would feel too much like they were letting down the colonel. It would almost be a betrayal of trust. They had to keep working.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Don't worry about it. Bring me back something, okay?"
"Sure. Thanks." Breda tried to hide his relief as he walked down the hall to the cafeteria. Heaving a sigh, Havoc turned to the reports in front of him.
Latest evidence… inconclusive… possible, but doubtful leads… blood analysis… shell casings… automail fragments… "Damn. Nothing. Two goddamn weeks and still nothing. Fuuuckk. This day can't get any worse." Right on cue, the office door opened. Unless, that is…
"What's the latest report, lieutenant?" Colonel Eric J. "Fuck You" Herschel, in all his asshole glory. His very presence sucks the life out of a room.
"Still no leads sir. There might be something in the latest blood analyses, but they can't say anything yet. Ballistics experts can't deduce anything from the shell casings, and forensics hasn't found squat with Fullmetal's automail fragments. In short, another dead-end sir." Havoc ground his teeth in frustration. It was bad enough that the investigation wasn't going anywhere, but colonel Douchebag wasn't making it any easier. Example?
"Yes yes, very good. Keep at it lieutenant. You're doing a fine job. I'm sure your colonel and Fullmetal will turn up soon!" He gave a hearty little laugh and left the room, plucking a sandwich from the tray Breda had on the way out.
Breda passed out the food and appraised Havoc's mood. "Let me guess. Herschel?" Havoc groaned and introduced his head to his desk.
"How'd you guess? That bastard's at it again, always so cheerful and fucking flippant about the colonel! And he didn't even mention Hawkeye or Alphonse, as if they weren't important at all! That fucking SHIT!" Havoc punched his desk in frustration. Working under Herschel was a special kind of hell. It had started when he had accidentally "lost" several important reports. It had escalated from there, with his general incompetence and laziness interfering with the investigation. For two weeks they had gotten nowhere thanks in large part to that man's interference. Havoc suspected that the man still had his job thanks only to his blatant ass-kissing.
"Hey, careful there, wouldn't want him to hear you would you?" Breda calmly took a bite of an apple. He didn't like Herschel any more than Havoc, but the man was a colonel.
"I know, I know, it's just… two weeks. Two weeks and no sign of them. It's as if they disappeared. I wonder what's happening to them."
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They were dragging her down a corridor. That much she could figure out. Her body burned from being stabbed repeatedly, and a gunshot to the leg wasn't helping matters. Her lungs ached for oxygen from a suffocation and her screams. She felt ashamed for screaming as that had just encouraged her captors. How long had it been? There was no way to tell time down in this hell hole.
"... brutal, even for the lieu… when did he get so fucked u…"
"... ggs, never been the same since… lost his broth…"
"... till suffocation? Electrocution? … n't know that we even had that equip…"
Everything faded out then. She wanted just to fall asleep, sleep until everything was over and she was gone from here. But she knew that if she fell asleep she might not wake up, and that would disappoint the colonel. She didn't want to disappoint the colonel, so instead she just focused on his face, using it to tie herself to consciousness.
"... cuffs on her, she's fuckin' heavy man…"
"... mmit, why can't we… "
"... eave them off, what's she gonna do?"
"... our funeral. I need a break anywa…"
The door closed. She coughed, tasting blood from where she had bit her tongue to keep herself quiet. Her body shook with pain and she curled up into a ball to stop her shivering. Two weeks with minimal food, water, warmth, and near constant torture had done a number on her body. She had stopped being hungry or thirsty a while ago. At least the colonel was still alright.
"Riza! Riza! Can you hear me? Open your eyes! Riza!"
Speaking of the colonel. She was so tired. Why was the world getting so dark?
"No! Stay with me! Dammit!"
Too hard. She couldn't stay awake. Eh. What harm could a little sleep do. At least this time they had been nice enough to leave her hands untied.
A/N: Annnnnnd finished! This chapter was brought to you courtesy of three days of procrastination. I still cringe when I read it.
On another note, please review and give feedback. I really could use help in making this story better. In particular: Warn me if I start to write any Mary Sues/Gary Stus. I don't want to go there.
Thank you so much for staying with this story!