So, how many references to all the canon material of Fullmetal Alchemist can you find throughout this story?

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Chapter 3

"You wished to see me, sir?" Mustang asked, rubbing his eyes with the coffee cup in his hands. The old man stationed behind the desk looked up briefly, setting down his papers.

"Ah, yes, Roy. Do come in, and shut the door." Mustang complied and soon found himself sitting in the office's chairs, facing the man who had called him in. "You look like a miserable wreck. Anything I should know about?"

"Just this case I'm working on," Mustang said, running his fingers along his coffee cup. "A lot of leads that go nowhere. Hawkeye called me to tell me that-"

"Oh, drop the pretenses, Roy," the old man chuckled and Mustang couldn't help but glance at the elderly individual. "Is that how you refer to my granddaughter all the time?"

"I don't think I quite understand what you mean, chief." Mustang flashed a half-smile before downing his coffee and grimacing at the bitter taste. The chief guffawed loudly, slapping his desk with gusto.

"So, Mustang," the old man teased, "what is this case? Tell me about it."

"Serial killer from Central. Or so I've been told," Mustang answered. "Had some leads about a broken transmission on a refrigerator truck but you'd be surprised how many people won't let you look at things without a warrant."

"And I suppose you didn't have enough evidence to get a warrant?"

"Wasn't so much a lack of evidence, as it was too many places to look. In the end, I only got full lists from two or three places." Mustang snorted at this and rolled his eyes. "Not that it helped. I spent half the night poring over those lists of all their jobs in the past few days but nothing with refrigeration trucks that weren't legit companies."

"Hmmm…seems a conundrum. This is the reason you look like you've been dragged out of hell, then?" Mustang nodded, too exhausted to say much more. He had returned the day prior from running (or rather, driving) all along the eastern part of Amestris looking up car dealerships and commercial mechanics only to get scant lists. Of course, he knew that he wouldn't hit all of them but by ten in the evening he really couldn't care. Hawkeye had left him a note on his desk reiterating what she told him about on the phone (and tried to remind him about when he stopped in for lunch) but Mustang hadn't taken the time to really look. To that end, he immediately started going over the lists…only to be shaken awake by Hawkeye at six in the morning.

"Sir, how many times have I told you that late nights, paperwork, and you just don't mix?" she had told him with a stern glare; to which he leaned back in his chair with a smirk and cockily replied:

"At least one more time." She then proceeded to hit him over the head with his own paperwork before taking it back to her desk to look it over herself. He really couldn't have asked for a better partner if he tried; whether it would be from no available candidates or Hawkeye shooting him. He had yet to decide which one it would be. The chief grunted and Mustang forced himself to focus his thoughts.

"Thinking about Riza, eh?" he said with a snicker and Roy glared at him. Now he wished he hadn't finished his coffee; at least then he'd have a good excuse for his flushed face.

"Not in that way," Roy chided him, thought it only caused him to give an outright laugh. "Why, Chief Grumman, you're quite the pervy old man. Whatever would your wife say?"

"I think she'd be wondering why you and Riza haven't gotten laid yet."

"Chief!" Roy spluttered as Grumman doubled over from his laugh. Looking at Grumman, part of Mustang couldn't believe he was the Chief of the East City Police Department. For one thing, his moustache was absolutely ridiculous, making him look like some kind of super-villain. Then there were the round glasses and bald head. True, Grumman had some of the kindest eyes conceivable but Mustang knew how mischievous the old man could be. His collection of Drachman dolls, which every officer knew contained a hidden cache of information, was enough indication of that. Overall, Grumman didn't seem the type to be Chief, but he was a damn good one. As unconventional as he was old, Grumman as the ancient head of east City PD made a perfect complement to the young head detective. Both trusted each other implicitly and were the few officers of the law that were willing to try crazy things to catch the killer. Mustang quickly composed himself and gave a steely gaze to Chief Grumman. "Sir, I don't think you called me down here to discuss my relationship with your granddaughter."

"No, I didn't," Grumman admitted and in that second the light air of embarrassment was replaced by the cool indifference that Grumman was known to use so effectively. "Head Detective Mustang, considering that this is a serial killer, and we've all been there, is there a reason why the department received a call yesterday from Liore's very irate mayor?"

"He called?"

"Less called and more yelled. You mind telling me why?"

"Sounds to me like you already know," Mustang said, stifling a yawn in order to keep up the small staring contest between the two of them.

"Oh, Roy, don't play this game with me. You haven't beaten me once."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Mustang!" The detective's eyes narrowed at the use of his surname.

"Cain Leto, Liore's DA…" Mustang answered reluctantly, standing up from his chair, "and Mayor Cornello's son."

"Sounds wonderful."

"It's a fucking nightmare!" Mustang started to pace, tousling his hair periodically while Grumman watched him. "I told them. I told them not to let any calls from Cornello or his staff through!"

"Hmm, Cornello called me, actually."

"You, sir?" Grumman said nothing, leaving Mustang to draw his own conclusions. "What exactly did he want?"

"Well, he was very incensed," Grumman chuckled, though his companion hardly found it the time for such a response. "Pretty much he was your usual politician, complaining about how it's been a day and we haven't caught the bastard yet. Trying to tell us how to do our jobs. I told him my best men were on it, he kept blabbing, so I told him we'd hold a press conference in Liore today."

"Should be interesting," Mustang remarked, sliding back into his chair.

"I hope so…I told him you'd be making a statement concerning your progress on the case at the press conference." Mustang's eyes widened in complete shock. In all his years as head detective, he had never once been forced to give a press conference, mostly considering the fact that his case closure rate was one of the highest in the country. No, Roy Mustang was not a man who had the need for press conferences. And he made sure to tell the chief this.

"That's not necessary. You know my progress, Chief, you could-"

"No arguments, Mustang," Grumman commanded and Mustang frowned as a result. The chief sighed from behind his desk and rubbed his balding temples. "Look, Roy, I'm doing this for you, my boy. For your future."

"I don't see how…" Mustang argued and slumped in his chair, knowing it was pointless to argue any further but wanting to all the same. Grumman stood at his answer and walked around the desk, placing a kind, almost fatherly hand on the head detective's shoulder.

"You're going to be chief one day, right?" Mustang jerked with sudden shock. There were very few people in the world in whom he had confided his ambitions, and they had all sworn not to tell a soul. Grumman, however, seemed to consider the fact immaterial and plowed on with his speech. "Well, as chief you're going to need to make use of press conferences and you'll be the front lines when it comes to them. That's why I think this will be a good experience for you. I intend on recommending you for the position when I retire and I want to prepare you for that as best I can."

"You mean if you retire, right?" Grumman chortled and Mustang eased into a lazy smile.

"Oh, I'm too old for this, so…probably sooner than later," Grumman told him, withdrawing his hand and humor. "Press conference is at one. I expect to see you at Liore's City Hall no later than noon."

"Yes, sir," came the weary response and he stood, leading himself over to the door as the chief's telephone began to ring. On a slight impulse that betrayed his frustration he slammed the door shut. It wasn't the press conference that was aggravating him, no; rather it was the entire situation to begin with. Mustang was no stranger to difficult cases, even some cases that could be considered un-closeable, but this one was taking the cake so far. Not only were they dealing with a deranged, likely psychopathic, serial killer, but now it had become too intense of a political case. Of course, typically, such a case wouldn't even be assigned to his team, usually it would be given to the big wig detectives in Central; but there was always the likelihood that Grumman had stepped in to interfere. Gotta make do with what you've got, I guess, Mustang thought savagely to himself.

Granted, the truth was staring him in the face and if he didn't take the gift that had been dropped in his lap, he would lose the chance forever. A half-scowl-half-smirk found its way to his features as he walked back to his desk. Catching a serial killer that even those in Central couldn't catch would score him some big points. Especially in a case involving a murdered district attorney, if Mustang could catch the creep with the little evidence they had and have the East City DA make the charges stick he was sure to be slotted for promotion. Grumman had guessed him right and though he wanted to deny it, this whole Chopper business, press conference included, was his chance to get closer to that coveted throne. The throne that only the Bradleys had sat on before. Oh, he wouldn't deny that Commissioner Bradley, the man hand-picked by the president of Amestris and a jury of peers to rule of not only Central PD but her four subsidiaries as well, wasn't one of the most capable men he'd ever seen. But to most of Amestris, the man was a god. And Roy never had much time for gods.

"Havoc," Mustang warned as he strode over to his long-time protégé, "if you are wasting my time and department resources looking at scantily-clad hookers then prepare to have my foot shoved up your ass."

"Whoa, boss, no need for the expletives!" Havoc said, not turning away from his computer.

"Like you're one to talk, Jean," Breda said with a roll of his eyes. "In a bad mood?"

"Am I ever in a good mood after seeing the chief?"

"It's not like he's a bad chief, sir."

"That's what you'd say, Hawkeye. He's your grandfather." Riza shrugged as though she couldn't care wither way. "Hmm, everyone's here but Armstrong and Feury?"

"Yes, I sent the two of them on an errand pertaining to the case."

"Oh, Detective, must you always have my back?" Hawkeye turned away from him to go back to her desk, but Mustang could tell she was clearly smiling. "All right, then. What're we looking at if not Havoc's Harem?"

"I like the sound of that, 'Havoc's Harem'," Havoc sighed out, looking like he was actually imagining it in his mind's eye. Breda cleared his throat loudly, calling Havoc back from the brink of his fantasy. "But, no, I'm actually taking the time to look at our little friend."

"Little friend?"

"The Elric kid," Breda informed him and Mustang quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. "Pretty interesting too. Did you know he graduated from college and got his job at South PD at only seventeen?"

"No surprise, seeing as he's only twenty," Mustang quipped, leaning forward to read the computer screen over Havoc's shoulder. "Though I have to say on paper he looks quite impressive. Graduated from high school at fourteen before going to South University for three years on a full scholarship. The kid seems a genius."

"Heh, and that's just the tip of the iceberg," Havoc claimed with a smirk. "Wait till you see his case files and commendations." With a singular click, a long list appeared before the three men. Mustang's eyes widened involuntarily as he glanced over just the first part of the list.

"Who the hell is this kid?" Mustang yelped, perhaps a little too loudly, and Riza chuckled, only sparing her partner a quick glance.

"He's your new forensics specialist."

"So I've noted, but have you seen this? He's helped to close almost as many cases as I have in the two years he's been with the department."

"Yeah, he's a genius, all right," Breda observed and now Mustang really felt like scowling. "Hey, look at this one. He even worked with Falman up at North PD."

"Oh, am I so glad I didn't get transferred there," Havoc remarked, suppressing a shudder that Mustang nearly emulated himself. "Ooh, this is a good one: a commendation from the commissioner himself."

"Do you guys really have time to be acting like little boys wondering who got the highest grade in the class?" Hawkeye scolded them sharply, causing the three to look at her questioningly.

"A good superior always looks after the people below him."

"Nice to know where we stand."

"Quiet, Havoc!"

"Believe what you will, sir," Hawkeye remarked coolly, turning her attention back to her work while the men went back to looking at the computer. An article appeared on the screen, dated a little over six months ago. On the article was a picture of the young Elric boy standing next to a podium with the same cocky smirk on his face that Mustang had met him with. Situated at said podium in the picture was Commissioner Bradley himself. An older man, somewhere in his sixties, Bradley looked just as intimidating now, with his still jet black hair and moustache, as he did nearly twenty years ago when he took the job.

"'Young Edward Elric had proved to be an enormous asset to our great state of Amestris'," he began to read from the screen. "'His bravery and intelligence has shown itself to be more than substantial in bringing to justice the Slicer Brothers, who have plagued this city with their heinous acts of crime. Despite his youth, he has truly shown remarkable resilience; thus do I give him the honors of recognition and the name of Fullmetal for his steel-faced determination at the sight of blood and gore as well as for'-"

"-'for his automail leg. A fitting commendation'," came the younger voice which caused the three to whip around and Hawkeye to snicker. Edward was standing there, a tack of papers in one hand, the other pulling his left pant leg up. Now that Roy had a better look, he saw the metal plating that made up the young man's leg. Some part of him wondered how it had happened; the other part was annoyed the boy had snuck up on them. "Or so Commissioner Bradley says."

"Edward, how nice to see you," Mustang exclaimed emphatically. With deftness, he wheeled away from him and angled toward his desk. Edward followed him.

"Cut the crap, detective."

"Hey, that's Head Detective," he reminded him, earning a scoff. "Fine. What do you want, Elric?" A large thud resounded as Edward dropped the stack of papers onto his desk, forcing the head detective to glare at it vehemently.

"That is the paperwork you promised me you would sign yesterday after your lunch," Edward told him. "Imagine my surprise when I stop by to find it abandoned."

"Huh…Detective Hawkeye, any reason you didn't remind me to sign these?"

"I'm your partner, sir, not your sitter," Hawkeye pointed out, "and I did remind you. You just decided that you had more important things to do."

"Don't blame yourself, big guy," Breda called to Edward. "Mustang's always like this whenever he's trying to get out of work. If it weren't for Hawkeye there, he wouldn't get anything done."

"Hey! I get plenty done!" Mustang argued back, but the team around him laughed as a response. "On a more serious note, I'm afraid I have quite a few things to do so-"

"I don't think so, Lord Detective," Edward commanded, slamming his hand on the stack. Mustang grumbled at the new nickname and looked into Edward's golden eyes with a glare. "You can shirk all you want, but I'm not losing my job because you didn't do yours."

"You drive a hard bargain," Mustang conceded, pulling the papers toward him. Edward leaned against the desk and watched him sign the forms as quickly as possible. Noise came from the chief's office and Mustang looked up to see Grumman leaving. He whispered a curse and started speeding through the rest.

"So, any other news on the Chopper?"

"Sorry, but I didn't have time to look into that lead," Mustang disclosed, "and a burlap sack with synthetic hair and blood gives me somewhat of a long shot. Now, if the blood was our killer's then hey, but what serial killer would be that stupid? There, all done! Your job is safe." But Edward didn't say anything, opting instead to bring his fingers up to his face.

"Blood…was I wrong?" Edward mumbled. His automail leg tapped the floor agitatedly before he whipped around, picking up his papers. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Fullmetal," Mustang taunted and Edward paused, giving him a curt nod before whizzing through the hall and out of sight. Mustang stared after him a moment before tousling his hair and grabbing his coat. "Well, I gotta get moving or I won't make it to that press conference in time."

"Press conference, all right!" Havoc cheered. "Boss man's moving on up!" Mustang chose to say nothing as a response; there was an unspoken agreement that they would follow him to the throne. A glance at the clock told him how close it was to ten, and he slung his jacket over him. Then the telephone on his desk rang.

"Head Detective Roy Mustang, East City Police Department," he confirmed, answering the phone. A minute pause followed until a young voice responded.

"Detective?" spoke the voice, "This is Russell Tringham from Tringham Oddities and Antiquities at the Xenotime Mall. Your partner, Detective Hawkeye, stopped by yesterday investigating the purchase of a burlap sack and brown wig."

"Did she now?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, as my father is the owner of the store I didn't have access to that kind of information. However, my father is in and willing to help if you'd like to stop by. I believe we had a similar purchase roughly a week ago."

"Sounds good, Mister Tringham. I think we'll do just that!" Mustang confirmed with a grin.

"All right, I'll see you soo-Fletch, watch out!" The line disconnected and Mustang quickly hung the phone up.

"Havoc! Breda! Go with Hawkeye to this Tringham place and get his info. This might be the break we're looking for."

"You got it boss!" His three compatriots stood, grabbing their own coats.

"I'll call you when I'm done in Liore," Mustang instructed before he flapped away from them, out of the station and into his car. For some reason, he couldn't erase the wide stretching grin from his face. He'd have to be careful in the press conference. After all, Mustang knew there was every potential that the killer would be watching, and he'd hate to tip his hand.

Pulling onto the main road that led to Liore, Mustang settled into the drive comfortably. Scoffing to himself, he realized he was getting far too comfortable with this drive for his tastes. On the other hand, if a two hour drive was all he needed to do to earn points with the mayor, chief, and commissioner all at once; he'd be a happy man. As he continued, his mind was once again inexorably drawn to his ultimate goal and the article he had read. Edward had worked at Central, more often than not considered to be the ultimate place of prestige in the police department, but had transferred out here. This confirmed what Mustang already knew: there was no need to have his eyes drawn to Central unless it was to look at the throne. Even so, it helped to understand the concept.

Amestris' police department was the premiere law enforcement agency in the country under the ruling of the President of Amestris herself. She was the one who chose Commissioner Bradley. Likewise, he was the one who chose the chiefs in Central, East, West, North and South. Then they chose their head detectives and everyone who came after. Regardless, Central Police Department was considered the closest to the commissioner, so a transfer there usually equated to promotion. But to Mustang, there was no point unless he became chief there. That very thought sustained him until he arrived at Liore's City Hall. His detective's badge was enough to let him through, and no sooner had he stepped in than he ran into Grumman and Cornello.

"Mustang, I see you made it on time!" Grumman remarked and Mustang inclined his head toward both of the officials.

"Chief, Mayor Cornello," he greeted them. "How are you holding up, sir?"

"I think I feel more anger than grief at this moment. Cain's funeral is tomorrow and you haven't caught his killer yet," Cornello complained and Mustang had to take a moment to evaluate his next statement.

"Then you'll be happy to know that we have several strong leads. I think we're very close, sir. Although, I can somewhat agree with your position. Your anger is most understandable." Cornello nodded, and Mustang was grateful for this far milder version of the mayor.

"Mayor Cornello!" cried a familiar voice and both Mustang and Grumman turned to see the young woman approaching the mayor.

"What is it, Rose? What's wrong?" the mayor asked kindly; an attitude shift that confused Mustang greatly, but he supposed that was just part of the man.

"The reporters, they're already arriving," Rose answered. Mustang exhaled in relief. It was now clear why Grumman had wanted him to come so early: he had gotten in just before the storm. Cornello and Rose started holding a conversation in harsh whispers and the head detective couldn't help but observe them. Often, he prided himself on understanding the emotional cues of the victim's loved ones…after all, he had been there. The hardest part of this, however, was seeing himself in each of them, especially these two. The timid and demure Rose, whose body was clearly falling apart but stubbornly held together, and the mayor, whose body shook with anger and want for vengeance. Roy had yet to decide which was worse.

"Looks like it's time, Roy," Grumman whispered in his ear and motioned toward the retreating mayor and his secretary.

"Do press conferences always start earlier than they're supposed to?" Mustang questioned.

"Depends on what they're about," Grumman considered, "but serial killers can whip the population into a panic." Mustang didn't ask anymore as he stood next to the chief while Cornello addressed the sea of reporters that had suddenly appeared. His throat was going dry at the sight, though he knew it wasn't because of the situation. Rather, it was the reminder that it gave him of two years ago. Mustang's fists clenched in his pockets, but as Grumman took Cornello's place he took a deep breath and relaxed himself. Grumman said a few words regarding the situation before inviting the detective to the fore. As soon as he approached the podium, the questions started.

"Detective Mustang, you put out the BOLO for The Chopper? How are you sure it's him?"

"We have various pieces of evidence pointing to The Chopper. His MO, for one thing, is the same in this case as seen in his other murders."

"Do you know why he murdered the DA?"

"No. I'm a detective, not a serial killer; I can't fathom how his mind works. But when we catch him, I'll be sure to let you know the answer."

"Do you have any leads?"

"Yes, various odds and ends here and there. However, at this time I'm keeping that information between myself and my team." This statement seemed to cause unrest amongst the reporters. "I'm sorry, but evidence is very sensitive and disclosing it can make the difference between catching a killer and letting him kill again. Any other questions?" An unsettling hush fell over the crowd. Clearly his statement had more power than he had imagined. "Thank you for your time, then."

"Not bad, Roy. Not bad," Grumman complimented him as he stepped down and let Cornello take over.

"I thought they'd ask more."

"Easier to ask when everything's said and done. So, what are you doing now?"

"Hope you don't mind but the rest are looking into a lead, so I should get back to them."

"By all means, go. The sooner we catch this guy, the better for all of us." Mustang gave him thanks before slipping away very quietly. As soon as he was safely in his car, he quickly called Hawkeye and waited for a response. The phone rang five times before her voicemail came up and Mustang closed his phone. With a defeated breath, he turned the car on and started back towards East City. Periodically he would try to reach his partner, and though it worried him that she refused to pick up, he knew she was quite capable. Thinking on Riza, however, reminded him of his conversation with Grumman, and another one he wished he could forget.

Oh, so she's like a childhood sweetheart?

C'mon, Roy, you know you love her.

Look, Roy, you deserve to be just as happy as me and Gracia.

Roy rubbed his forehead when suddenly he heard a loud noise and his car suddenly felt strange. With a groan he stopped the car and stepped out to see his tire blown. Cursing loudly, Roy went to his trunk and rummaged around. A few moments later he had attached his spare. Sliding back into the car he glanced at the GPS and noticed he was still a good half-hour from East City. Scowling, he looked on the GPS for the nearest mechanic and noticed one was just a mile away in Resembool. He put the car back in drive and set off, grateful there was a mechanic in such a small town. Not five minutes later, he arrived at the shop that had a rather large garage and a smaller building attached to the side. The shop seemed relatively empty, but Roy figured as it was just past lunchtime most people were probably back at work. Roy walked up the small path to the house, glancing at a sign that read:

ROCKBELL MECHANICS

Serving Resembool for 100 yrs

"I'll be with you in a moment," called a feminine voice as Roy stepped in the smaller of the two buildings. As the woman said, moments later she appeared, jumpsuit hanging off of her. Her blonde hair was pulled up in the back and there was a grease smudge on her cheek. "Well, you don't look like you're here for automail."

"Er, no…" Roy stammered, recovering for his shock at seeing a woman mechanic. "Car had a flat tire."

"Did you replace it with a spare?"

"Yes, but I have quite a bit to go and I don't want to ruin my car," Roy admitted and the young woman smiled at him.

"We'll go look in the garage. What model?"

"Ezo-20."

"Should have some tires for that. It might cost you, though."

"Better than paying for car damage."

"Very true." The two stepped into the garage and the young woman walked over to the rack of fresh tires. "Here we are."

"Oh, let me help."

"Nope. I got it, but thank you," she insisted, taking the tire down and rolling it along, grabbing a jack on the way to Roy's car. With a certain swiftness, she easily popped the car up and went to work affixing the tire.

"You're quite skilled. Are you the proprietor?"

"Yep!" she answered enthusiastically. "Well, technically my family is but I'm the only one around anymore, so I run the shop. I usually have another mechanic on staff but his wife went into labor so I let him take the day off."

"So, you're a Rockbell then? I noticed the shop sign…" Roy commented as the young woman finished her work and stood up.

"Was. I'm married, so you can just call me Winry," she told him, holding out her now ungloved hand to show off her sparkling wedding band. "Two years now."

"Congratulations. It's not very often people find love so young. He must be a lucky guy."
Winry snorted in humor but Roy decided to not ask why, opting instead to follow her into the shop while she rang up the order.

"That'll be 9000 Cenz." Roy simply handed here a card to finish the transaction as he looked around the shop.

"You get a lot of business here?"

"Some days are slower than others, but Rockbell Mechanics has attempted to be a comprehensive mechanic service since its inception. We do it all: automail, cars, trucks-"

"Trucks?" Roy mused, causing Winry to cut herself off. "By any chance have you serviced any transmissions on refrigerator trucks recently?"

"Yes, actually, I serviced one yesterday. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Roy Mustang, Head Detective at the East City Police Department. Currently we're investigating a case where a serviced transmission might be the key to solving it. I can show you my badge or get a warrant if you need it."

"No, that's okay," Winry assured him, digging into a file cabinet. "My husband works there too, so I kind of get it."

"Hmm…I'm surprised he didn't say anything about this."

"He doesn't like telling me anything about his work. I think he wants to protect me," Winry commented. "He can be sweet…when he wants to be. Here you go." Mustang took the file from her with a smile.

"Thanks very much."

"No problem. Just make sure to remember Rockbell Mechanics any time you need service."

"You know, I think I might." With that, Mustang departed the small shop and returned to his car, dialing Hawkeye once again.

"Detective Hawkeye," she responded.

"Hawkeye, please tell me your lead panned out, cause I think we just found our transmission lead and I want to compare it," Mustang informed her.

"That's good. Ours did, in fact, pan out. The Tringhams were very helpful. They even provided us a sample of the burlap and wig to double check everything."

"Did you send it down to Elric in Forensics for that double check?"

"That's the thing, sir. Edward's been missing since this morning." Confusion, fear, and curiosity gripped Mustang all at once as he took a deep breath.

"What do you mean, 'Elric's missing'?"

Author's Note: This chapter was actually easy to write…I'm worried I didn't try hard enough. So, setting some stuff up here. I liked a lot of the scenes I wrote, particularly the Roy and Winry interaction. Anway, I noticed reviews were, clearly, down last chapter and it made me sad. However, to all those who did review I humbly thank you. Just remember, a favorite is not a review, and doesn't make a better story for you. On that note, I'd appreciate lots of reviews this chapter as we keep it going with some analysis or something more than "This is great!". In the meantime, Dare to Be Silly.