I ducked as a combat boot-clad foot soared over my head, wondering exactly how this situation had gone from tea time with the military to trying to keep all my limbs attached. Thinking back, I was almost positive that it was that Bastard Mustang's fault.

Mustang led us down the twisting corridors of Central HQ and opened the door to his temporary office, ushering us in before him. When the door clanked closed behind me I tried extremely hard not to equate the sound with finality, but failed miserably. He walked behind his desk and sank into his seat with a small sigh, gesturing to the two couches facing one another in front of him.

For the next twenty minutes there had been inane conversation interspersed with semi-serious conversation over what I planned to do now that I was in Amestris, and no real questions as of yet on HOW I got into the country or where any legal documents were regarding my entrance. This deteriorated into random conversation over my journey here. We had just broached the subject of what I was going to do with myself now that I was in the country when the door slammed open and none other than the Fuehrer Bradley flanked by two men in blue uniforms marched in.

Him swanking in and also inquiring about my plans left me at somewhat of a loss. WHY he would inquire about me was also confusing, seeing as I was a random, tiny, insignificant person, not to mention the slight pause as he came in the door and his eye landed on me (What the fuck was that about, anyway?). And he gave me a creepy vibe, rather than the grandfatherly one I had been expecting. He wasn't a good guy in the other anime, but Taylor had confided in me that Envy, Lust, Gluttony, and Greed were the only homunculi that stayed the same across the board, so there was that which I could lean on, he wasn't Pride for sure. I then informed them of what I saw as my only two options. The civilian life in Central paying the military tax to earn citizenship, or the military route. The moment I mentioned the military route the guard to the Fuehrer's left lunged for me. In the few seconds it took for him to come near me I slipped into my mind and grabbed onto any and all memories I had of martial arts and gymnastics tossing them into the forefront of my mind. I used what little upper body strength I had left over from my short stint in marching band (don't judge) to break the fall when I dived off the edge of the couch and rolled to a kneeling position facing him, where I could easily avoid or attack. Granted most of the moves I had rolling around in my head came from watching Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee, and Naruto and would most likely be unusable for me but there were a few self-defense moves I knew from my brother that I could (in theory) use against this guy.

I had no illusions about winning this fight. I was weak from long-term depression, not to mention malnourished, with only working knowledge of martial arts and next to no recent experience. A slight obsession with Naruto in the past led me to take a few martial arts classes, but I hadn't continued when my health declined. But I sure as hell was gonna at least attempt to muscle memory this shit. The door was out of reach and the window was blocked, so escape wasn't an option.

All that brings me back to rolling on the floor again to avoid that offending foot. Mustang wasn't moving, and didn't look surprised at the attack on a small teenage girl in his office, and wasn't interfering, most likely meaning he was in on it, this was planned. Hughes, however, was being held back by the other of the Fuhrer's guards. So whatever this was, they hadn't had time to inform Hughes of it. The fact that Mustang knew and that they had taken time to plan it out, that they would bother, left an uneasy feeling in my gut that I had to ignore for the sake of staying in one piece for the next few minutes. I noted the set of the man's stance and predicted that he would swing wide, leaving an opening.

When he swung into the punch I gently redirected it with my left hand on his wrist, it was simple to use my smaller size to slip in and jab my right elbow sharply into his solar plexus, spinning around and jabbing my left fist firmly into his stomach, using my left foot to stomp on the tarsal bone in his foot whilst pushing off away from him. Sometimes it pays to have a thinking process quicker than most humans.

I used the mental image of the body's map of pressure points, doing lightning-fast calculations and matching it up mentally with the man before me. I wasn't capable of the force necessary for those types of hits to put him down on the ground, but I was able to make him pause and wince, allowing me to get back out of range and into a little breathing room. Probably wasn't any worse than a mosquito bite, but hey, I wasn't dead yet.

He took a step towards me and I slipped a foot behind me in a halfhearted martial arts ready stance, coming up with over 40 ways to redirect his next attack or dodge around and get the hell out of here. However before he could take another step Bradley raised a hand, a smile still on his face.

"Sorry about that Miss, but we set up this little test before you got here."

I watched warily as the man who attacked me relaxed completely and gave me a grin before going back to his place beside the Fuhrer, along with the man who had been restraining Hughes. Hughes brushed off his rumpled uniform before glancing back up at Bradley.

"Test?"

Mustang spoke up, "There are...no records of Miss Arcaro entering the country. It needed to be made clear if she was a Drachman spy of some sort."

Oh fuck. Jail cell was starting to look more and more likely.

"So did I 'pass' or whatever? What was the particular point of that test? What were the others? Can I please not go to jail? Is that an option here?" I hated myself for the nerves that showed at the end, finally clamping my jaw shut in an effort to cease the word vomit.

Bradley answered for the Colonel.

"No, child, no need to worry about jail time. While you obviously have rudimentary knowledge on fighting you move like no Drachman I've ever seen. Not to mention they'd never let one of their own out of the country in such an abysmal state, nor that Drachmans don't come in size tiny."

I suppressed the strong urge to sweat drop at the comment because this was coming from the man that passed the Fullmetal Alchemist.

He continued, "The other tests were simple and inconsequential at the moment, slipped into the conversation by our dear Colonel and testing your intellect."

I shot Mustang a confused look, but Hughes' face lit up in comprehension and he pointed at the Colonel accusingly. "Is that why I couldn't follow half of the conversation?"

I furrowed my brow in thought, thinking back to the conversation. There hadn't been anything that difficult, just some geosciences, and some mentions of foreign cultures I had 'encountered in my travels' which I bullshat from history class- oh. I'm a stupid genius. Most people my age, or at all based on Hughes' reaction, wouldn't have that shit fluttering around in the front of their brains. This time, I really did sweat drop. None of it had been specifics of this country that I wouldn't have known but Hughes would have, just generalizations that tested the waters in many different areas. Not to mention the raw sciences we'd touched on that I'd gushed over.

Bradley chuckled at my expression, "Relax Miss Arcaro, after all, you have secured a place in boot camp."

I paled rapidly, "Eh, say-what-now?"

"Boot camp, I'm going to throw you in with the rest of the new recruits and you're either going to build up some muscle or drop out for civilian life. If you can't handle it, Miss, then you can always drop out at the weekly check-in with your assigned officer."

Oh, no, he did NOT just emphasize the Miss in that sentence. I'll show that sexist bastard- wait, that was his intention. Damn.

Bradley (Literally ruler of a nation): 2

Me (the dumbass teenager): Zippo, at the moment.

"And who might my assigned officer be?"

Bradley motioned his head at the Colonel, "Unfortunately our dear Lt. Colonel Mustang has to return back to his post at East headquarters, so the only one left with the appropriate connection to you is Lt. Colonel Hughes. He will be checking up on you during the evening mess every Wednesday. I have a good feeling about you."

I raised an eyebrow at that, visibly confused. Was I missing a social cue here? When I didn't react anymore than that he gave me a considering look before nodding to himself.

At a sudden signal from Bradley his two henchmen each grabbed onto one of my arms, one handing my bag to Hughes, and then steering me out of the room. "We're going to get you a physical and then off you'll go!"

He cheerfully led the way out and I looked over my shoulder at the shocked Hughes and resigned-looking Mustang,

"Look after my coat, would ya? Sentiment and all that, all I have left of my brother."

When I got a nod from Hughes I looked forward and stopped dragging my heels, walking with the men instead.

At least this solved my issue of how to get close enough to change things. If Hughes was my assigned officer I would most likely end up in his unit afterward because he had such a close handle on my training.

On the downside, I now had to go through a hellish stay in military boot camp. Then there was the real motive behind allowing me (read: forcing, I noted that I was never asked my opinion on shit) to join, I'd been admitting to my horrible health left and right because it's not something to be kept to myself. If I'm going to be around these people for a while like Hughes had implied they needed to know in case shit went sideways. Why had they not only let me join, but strongarmed me into doing so? And what was that cryptic shit with the leader of this damn country? So I had a million mysteries on my hands and the gates of metaphorical hell open before me (and those of literal hell closing behind me). Joy. There had better be freaking soda in this mess hall they mentioned.

~TimeLordOfPie