Brigadier General Mustang looked down at the mounting piles of paper on his desk, groaning inwardly as he did so. Despite the jump in rank and his new position as head of the eastern region, the menial tasks of his work never got any easier, and his trusted lieutenant was always there to ensure the work got done—as she was now, bringing in yet another stack.
"Sir, may I remind you that you also have to do this at some point? The others are practically swimming in your overdue statements." Mustang looked up at Riza between his fingers, which were currently resting on the bridge of his nose.
"I know. It's just… I can't help but think it's too quiet here. Sure, Central is as safe as it's ever been, now that they don't have to worry about being led by a homunculus, some crazy creep calling himself 'Father,' or white, zombie-like creatures rising from below the streets. They even have General Grumman as president for the time being. Still, I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong. Maybe it's just me jumping to conclusions, given everything that's happened."
"I wouldn't blame you for that, sir. These past few years have been the most eventful since the end of the Ishvalan Civil War. I never thought we'd see another normal day. Regardless, you do need to get these done. President Grumman is expecting a report on the current conditions within our region and along the border with Ishval within the week, and the next train to Central isn't for another three days. It'll be the last one for at least two weeks due to the forecasted sandstorms."
Mustang groaned as he sat back in his desk chair, peering out the window toward the vast desert, only miles away. "Alright, I'll get started on the reports. There's not much to write about anyway, unless something happens in the next 24 hours that deserves an addition."
Hawkeye left as Mustang began the report, but his office phone rang unexpectedly. Picking up the receiver, he heard the familiar voice of the downstairs operator.
"Brigadier General, there's a Winry Rockbell on line one for you. Would you like me to send her through?"
"Yes, go ahead."
The phone rang for a second before the familiar voice of the young lady came through. "Brigadier General, huh? I guess a new position means a few more ranks. Don't let Ed find out, or he'll never let you live it down that you aren't Führer yet." She gave a slight chuckle before her tone turned serious.
"It's good to hear from you, Winry. Speaking of Fullmetal, how is he? I know you two were supposed to be traveling together, so pardon my surprise when I heard it was you calling."
"He's doing alright. We had to head back to Resembool due to some unforeseen issues with his leg. Little shorty is actually growing now—it only took him forever." Mustang grinned slightly, as he could almost hear Ed ranting from the other room. Even though the kid had his arm back and couldn't do alchemy anymore, his fiery spirit remained intact—if not even hotter than before. Mustang sometimes envied that drive, knowing it kept Ed going through tough times.
"So, you don't usually call unless it's important. Is everything really alright?"
A brief silence was followed by an uncertain response. "I'm not entirely sure. Granny and I were making breakfast when we heard a screeching sound from the sky. Two shiny objects were streaking across, like meteors. They were definitely metal, judging by the reflection. Well, they landed in our backyard, and now there's someone at our door asking for a map. What should we do? I don't recognize any of the markings on the objects they arrived in."
Mustang racked his brain for any ideas of flying machines, besides the UFO stories recruits told in basic training, but nothing came to mind.
"Are they armed or seem like they could be?"
Winry peeked around the corner to glance at the stranger at the door. He was scratching the back of his neck, giving a nervous smile.
"No, I don't see any obvious firearms."
"Alright. You said they just wanted a map, right? Go ahead and give it to them. I'll call up Fuery and Falman; they're closest to your location. Keep the guy distracted until they arrive, and we'll get this all sorted."
"Thank you, Mustang. For everything."
"You're welcome, Ms. Rockbell."
As soon as he hung up, Mustang began dialing the number for the field phone he knew Fuery always kept with him. The phone rang a few times before being answered, static crackling before a familiar voice came through.
"Mustang! Long time no see," came Falman's voice.
"Indeed. Listen, I'm cutting your mission short. I need you and Fuery to head to the Rockbells' in Resembool. Apparently, there's a situation developing, and it needs to be handled quickly. Approach cautiously, but don't draw your weapons unless you have a reason to."
Fuery and Falman exchanged glances before hopping into their small government-provided car and speeding down the dirt path toward Resembool. It didn't take long to reach the final turn. Skidding to a stop, they approached the front steps and knocked lightly. The door was opened by Winry, who quietly hushed them and led them into the kitchen, where they had a clear view of the back door. Pinako was still chatting with the young man who had knocked earlier, but now he was joined by another person, dressed similarly and speaking in the same manner.
Falman approached first, clearing his throat. He watched as the two strangers perked up at the sudden noise.