"So, let me get this straight," Maes said with a frown. "Two young guys just drop onto your car, unconscious. Then, one of them starts attacking attacking you out of nowhere, yelling your name while he does so, then the other kid just decides to help you while you knock the first guy into next week?"

Mustang turned to glare at Maes. "I just explained all of that, Hughes. There's no need to repeat me."

The pair were standing before a one way mirror, watching Edward chow down on some take out Chinese food in an interrogation room. They hadn't shackled him to the table, but had refused to give him anything more lethal than a spoon.

"I know," Maes relented. "It's just... Weird. Even for us. A cyborg and a shapeshifter in one spot? On top of your car?"

Mustang rolled his eyes. "We've heard more outlandish stories. Vampires in England? Witches serving the Kaiser in World War One? Devils popping up in Japan?"

It was Maes' turn to glare at his friend. "Yeah, well, let's take the kid's story into account. A Gate between worlds. Alchemy being a good career path. A fucking Fuhrer who skips the fun little camps and goes straight to the slaughter?"

With a sigh, Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. At this point, he was running on fumes, caffeine, and pure will to get the job done. But even in his sleep deprived state, Hughes did have a point.

"Look," he grumbled. "You can see his arm right now. What can you tell me about that?"

Maes' expression turned thoughtful as he adjusted his glasses, watching Edward put down the now empty box with a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'm no surgeon," he muttered, "And I'm certainly not a mechanic, but that's some advanced gear he's got. I'm frankly shocked it doesn't come with any attachments, like a hidden gun or something crazy like that. But it moves so naturally. Like it's his original arm. So unless we have someone with groundbreaking designs for prosthetics, I can honestly say it's definitely not from this planet."

"That isn't exactly concrete evidence," Mustang replied sourly.

"Hey, you asked," Hughes retorted. "Do you want my answers, or don't you?"

Before Mustang could respond, another male voice asked cheerily, "Am I interrupting something, agents?"

On instinct, both men turned to face the newcomer, standing at attention and smartly saluting.

The one eyed man before them chuckled warmly, waving a hand. "At ease, gentlemen. You're not in the army anymore."

Both nodded, slowly lowering their hands.

The man was dressed in a black suit and tie, with a patch over one of his blue eyes. His hair was greying, and wrinkles were starting to sink into his suntanned skin. Beside him stood two figures in similar suits, a blonde woman staring at Mustang with a disapproving look, and an Asian man holding his hands behind his head and wearing a smirk on his face. Unlike the other two, he hadn't bothered to button up his suit or the white shirt beneath, revealing the awful Hawaiian shirt under that.

Mustang nodded to them all in turn. "Director Bradley. Agent Hawkeye. And I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Agent Yao," the man answered with a chuckle, holding out a hand to shake his. "But you can call me Ling."

Mustang accepted the hand. "Then I guess you can call me Roy," he muttered. Turning back to Bradley, he asked, "We weren't expecting a visit, sir. What brings you to East Bank?"

Bradley jerked his head towards the window. "Your guests are quite fascinating, Roy. Once the report reached me in the Big Apple, I thought it would be prudent to take a look for myself." He smirked and added, "Hawkeye was the one who suggested the surprise visit."

Mustang grimaced, glancing at the woman. "Did she, now?"

"I did," Hawkeye responded, folding her arms.

Mustang nodded slowly. "May I ask-"

"You may not," she interrupted him.

Bradley chuckled warmly, patting Hawkeye's shoulder. "That particular detail will come up later, Mustang. But first, I'd like a word with each of your guests."

Hughes cleared his throat. "Well, sir, I'd like to talk with them as well."

"Perfect," Bradley said with a nod. "We'll go in together. And Mustang?"

"Yes, sir?" Mustang asked, resisting the urge to salute once again.

Bradley placed a hand on Mustang's shoulder. "You look ready to drop at a moment's notice. Inform Agents Yao and Hawkeye on the security measures you have on your other guest, give them whatever they need to get in, then go take a nap. You've more than earned it."

Mustang blinked. "But, sir-"

"That was an order, Mustang," Bradley said, sternly, but tempered with compassion. He pulled his hand back and turned towards Maes. "Now, let's go introduce ourselves."

"Yes, sir," Hughes replied, leading the director to the door.

Mustang turned to Hawkeye and Yao, who were patiently waiting for his instructions. He grimaced. This was going to be a long day.

Edward honestly had no clue what was going on. This wasn't where he was supposed to end up. He was supposed to be in Germany, wasn't he? And wasn't the year supposed to be 1923, not 2020?

The only thing that gave him any solace was, oddly enough, the fact that Roy Mustang was up to some shady shit.

Once his people had arrived to take Envy into custody, Mustang had brought Edward here, to what could only be called an interrogation room. And he'd demanded his answers. Ed knew not to share too much, like the existence of the Philosopher's Stone, or Envy being a homunculus. But, he had shared a lot. It felt wrong not to. And though Mustang made a big show about not trusting him, Ed could read the man, even in this strange, futuristic world. The man understood little of what Ed explained, but he knew what truth sounded like.

He also knew Ed was concealing something from him.

Now, Ed was just sitting there, slowly growing agitated with the silence. The food (Mustang had called it chicken fried rice) had been good and filling. And, thus far, his stomach was agreeing with it. But now, anxiety was starting to creep in. While he knew he could trust the Mustang of his world, this one was still a relative unknown to him.

Still, it seemed as if he had no real option now but to trust the man. Him, and this strange organization he served. This... SHIELD.

The door finally opened, and as Ed turned to face it, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was Hughes. Alive and well. The same glasses, the same lick of hair refusing to stay in place, the same stupid grin... Everything but the uniform was the same.

"Hey, there," the man said, giving Ed a friendly wave. "You're Edward Elric, right?"

The same voice.

Ed cleared his throat. No. He had to maintain composure now. He was still being interrogated, after all.

"That would be me," he answered slowly. "Where's Mustang?"

"Oh, he's off to take a nap," Hughes answered with a shrug. "Apparently, thanks to your, uh, visit, he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep! So, Director Bradley told him to catch some winks."

Ed felt himself tense again, though he tried not to show it. "And... Who is Director Bradley?" he asked, suspicion clouding his voice despite his efforts.

"Oh, he's the man in charge," Hughes answered. "In fact, he wanted to ask you some questions of his own."

Ed slowly nodded. "I guess I don't have anything better to do..."

"Great!" Hughes turned around. "Director, it seems he's ready for you."

As Hughes stepped aside, Ed resisted the urge to scream, or even attack.

For King Bradley himself stepped in. Just like with Hughes, everything was the same. The face, the eyes, the posture, that damned warm smile. Even the patch over the eye.

"Hello, Mister Elric," Bradley said kindly, walking to the chair opposite Ed's. "I trust my agents have been treating you well?"

"They've been treating me fine," Ed answered, fighting to keep the harshness in his tone down. "I love being treated like a criminal."

Bradley chuckled, sitting down and tenting his arms upon the table. "Now, now, young man," he gently chided, "You have to understand. You gave one of my best agents quite a fright when you landed on his car. Not to mention there aren't any records of your existence anywhere to be found."

Ed scoffed. "Well, like I told Mustang, I wouldn't have any."

"Oh, I know," Bradley answered. "I read his report on the way here."

With a frown, Ed admitted, "I didn't think he'd have the time to write up any reports."

"Well, it wasn't technically his report," Bradley admitted. "He had a stenographer writing it up. Sent it out just before I walked into the building."

"Right," Ed muttered. "And where would this report even be?"

Bradley smiled, holding out a hand. Hughes pulled a tablet from his coat, handing it to Bradley.

Ed frowned as he studied the tablet. It wasn't a clipboard, and it most certainly wasn't a book. He'd seen Mustang meddling around with something like it, though hadn't asked about it. He hadn't even asked about the strange radio in the man's car that kept talking directly to Mustang, and even seemed to be driving the damned thing. Whatever was going on, Ed knew one thing: the technology of this age was years ahead of anything in Amestris. Well, it was almost a hundred years since his appearance in Germany...

Bradley tapped and swiped at the tablet a few times, then slid it over to the boy. "Here," he said, once again tenting his arms. "Take a look for yourself."

Hesitantly, Ed picked up the tablet. Sure enough, it was displaying a report on the interview Mustang had conducted with him. Though it lacked pages to turn, and he had no godly idea how to work the thing. So, experimentally, he pressed the button at the bottom of the tablet. Instantly the report disappeared, replaced by the picture of a shield, with several boxes on top of it, each with a different label below it. Clock, Calendar, Files, Notepad-

Ed swallowed, slowly handing it back. "I think I messed up," he muttered. "You, uh, might want to remake that file."

But Bradley wasn't unhappy at all. In fact, he was smiling. "I thought you wouldn't know how to handle it," he said, with a small tone of satisfaction in his voice. "You see, Mister Elric, we've been expecting you for some time."

Ed tensed again, studying Bradley carefully. "We, you say?"

Bradley nodded, picking up the tablet again and tapping a few more times. "I think it might be best if I showed you this," he said, setting it back down and sliding it over.

Ed peered down at it. Instead of the file, or even the strange shield and boxes, it now had a grainy, black and white image bearing the words To My Sons. Below that was a black bar with strange symbols on it.

"Press the triangle in the center," Bradley kindly instructed.

Ed couldn't help but glare up at the man, but did as he was told.

The triangle turned into two vertical bars, and the image flickered. The bar faded away, and the image was replaced by-

Ed audibly gasped. Hohenheim?

The bastard that was his father gave Ed a tired smile from within the tablet. "Hello, Edward, Alphonse. Though I doubt the latter would be stubborn enough to follow me here. By the time you see this video, I will be dead."