FMA [BigBang Fic]: ACIS: Central City (3/7)

[dreamer1789]

Title: ACIS: Central City
Genre: Divergence, Mystery, Family
Summary: Mangaverse, divergence. Central City 1910 - 1916. Political upheaval has restructured the proud nation of Amestris to a blooming democracy, where the art of alchemy is no longer glorified, but monitored for the distrust it has sown. In this obstructive climate, Roy Mustang’s investigative team must track down a familiar face, for ties to a brutal homicide case.
Rating: T
Word count: 30.000+
Spoilers: mild spoilers for everything, which includes the new movie
Warnings: minor character deaths, bit of cussing, some gore (crime scene, not much you can do about it.)

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PREVIOUS

PART 2

Wednesday, April 07, 19:20 - Central City - Western District - General Hospital - PACU

Heymans Breda had to hand it to his direct superior: Mustang knew how to be the irresistible charmer and the no nonsense arm of the law all in one. Even the middle-aged, overly tired nurse at the reception desk, who had looked to be more interested in her co-workers’ latest gossip than whomever else - visitor or potential patient - came to bother her, was putty in Mustang’s womanizer hands. It was crude and transparent, yet highly effective strategy. Heymans would have bet a bottle of old Youswell scotch that if he had walked up to the woman, flashing nothing but his agency ID and most winning smile, he would have been told to sit down and made to wait up to an hour before being permitted to see the patient they needed to question. So, of course, it took the Chief ten minutes, tops. Alchemic law could go hang itself; Heymans put his money on Murphy’s Law and nothing else. However, he didn’t begrudge Roy his womanizing ways like Jean did, especially since it allowed them to get facts on the case faster than normal.

Upon entering Miss Chang’s tiny but private recovery room, they were greeted with a somewhat woozy string of rapid Xingese as the girl - mostly obscured from sight by starched blankets - regained some of her bearing. Heymans had picked up only the basics of the foreign language, starting from some random insults and then expanding into the rudimentary vocabulary for some merchandize over the more recent years spent around Xing Town, so he had no true grasp on what was said, but in his boss’s reply he could vaguely recognize what he thought to be a reply and an introduction. There was some other gibberish thrown in that he thought might be a proverbial wish for good health and fortune - if he interpreted that bit about rice grains right.

Heymans wasn’t overly concerned with the language barrier; however, as he was more occupied with the girl’s two other visitors. An older lean man positioned next to the door, the only point of entry, the other casually leaning on the wall within arm’s reach of the young girl. Both were clothed in dark, overlapping yet giving fabrics, embroidered with exotic symbols in darker thread. They could only be her bodyguards masquerading as companions or perhaps even as chaperones. Heymans made a mental note not to while away long minutes playing hangman with Jean the next time he and his colleagues were forced to sit through a mandatory debriefing about the most common practices of the foreign cultures now crossing their paths on a regular basis.

Letting his eyes sweep the room once more, he did note the lack of a heart rate monitor, which meant the only still breathing victim of their case should be well enough to talk, if the IV drip she was hooked up to provided hydration instead of painkillers. The compact, lit incense burner on the night stand saturated the air of the tiny room enough with some biting scent that made Heymans’s eyes water, that they might even have trouble claiming a morphine free statement, should they use this interview in court, and Miss Chang could hire a decent lawyer.

The slip of a girl, Heymans never would have pegged her for a blooming teenager, seemed moderately insulted - even through the after effects of recent trauma and possibly follow-up surgery - by the Chief’s introduction. Dark eyes focused and flashed hostility as she rebutted whatever assumptions she suspected the pair of them held. “I’ll have you know, Officer Mustang, that I have an excellent command of your plebeian language.”

Heymans tensed at her irritation, keeping a wary eye on her guards. Roy wasn’t so easily thrown, off course. “I apologize, Miss Chang. It was only my intention to accommodate you, considering recent events. I meant no insult to you or your family.”

Heymans put his faith in Mustang’s fancy flattery strategy and braved a closer look at the princess’ clip note chart for injuries and treatment. His boss’s tactic worked like a formal icebreaker of sorts as Mustang redirected the odd flow of conversation back into more familiar territory.

“If you could spare the time to answer a few standard procedure questions, we will leave you in peace to recuperate.” Roy didn’t wait for her to object. “Please tell us all you can recall of the incident that caused these injuries. The smallest details can make the difference in apprehending the culprit.”

May Chang was apparently used to getting her way - four fractured ribs and a torn ligament notwithstanding, Heymans read the off her chart, somewhat impressed - because she didn’t even try and feign thinking up a reply. “My clan has good trackers; we require none of your meddling. I’ll cooperate with your interrogation; in so far as it is relevant to your investigation.” Her small fists tightened on the bed sheets. “But only if you tell me first what happened to my - companions.”

She wanted to play hard ball, well, Roy Mustang had one mean curve throw, as anyone he’d ever worked with or against him could tell you. He approached slowly with hands relaxed in plain sight, so as not to trigger her bodyguards into defensive movement, but with all the purpose and bearing he’d had as the Flame Alchemist. Selecting a few of the polaroid pictures Heymans himself had snapped at the crime scene from an inner pocket of his ACIS regulation jacket with careful deliberation, Roy confronted her with the fate she’d somehow escaped. Heymans knew the boss had picked up on the ‘companions’ part, and wondered what May Chang’s business with lowlife Yoki had been. The princess’s mother and clan leader - Lian Chang - may claim in an official statement to Parliament that all of their imported drugs were to use for medicinal purposes only, few if any Amstrians believed the word of an infamous concubine. And if the Chang clan was expanding its obscure business into a full-blown drugs cartel, Central City could have a full out international gang war near the commercial hub of Central on their hands by the end of summer.

While Heymans pondered these possibilities and the best ways to counteract or neutralize their consequences, carefully fishing around in his bag for pencil and paper, Mustang was already playing his cards. “This is what happened to your last companions, Miss Chang. I hope for your sake your new ones will keep a better track record.”

One of the guards moved away from the wall, reaching and half unsheathing a gleaming dagger. Heymans’s fingers reflexively twitched on top of his sidearm, whishing he had passed this part of the case on to his more combat seasoned buddy Jean. Before the situation could become even more hostile, the princess barked a clear stand down order at her entourage. Then she turned to Mustang, aggrieved.

“I don’t care what you believe, Dorchette was a good man. He understood loyalty as Xing customs and tradition demands it.” Her tone softened when she spoke, her gaze drifted, as she relived the memory. If it was an act, Heymans thought she deserved an award for it. “He shielded me. The regular chimera was no challenge, so I got overconfident. I underestimated the other enemy.” Her voice gained a bitter edge and she glowered at Mustang for making her relive what the crime scene indicated to have been a brutal event. “Any warrior worth their salt can read the enemy’s intentions through their qi and muscle movement above all else. The human chimera was swift as a striking snake. I am no slow fighter, but its speed was beyond my own physical capacity. I just couldn’t move fast enough.”

Heymans traded another look with his boss at the girl’s description. A human chimera? Those were very rare, supposedly because they were unbelievably hard to create successfully. More than one alchemist had been apprehended by the State directly or later by ACIS specifically, because that person messed up the polymerized reconstruction of the subjects of the transmutation. Such a crucial error left the result of the attempted transmutation dying either during or immediately after the distasteful meshing of species. Or rather, ACIS could make the arrest if the backlash of such a violent transmutation, which usually attracted the agency’s attention, didn’t kill the law-breaking alchemist first.

Mustang spared one of Miss Chang’s bodyguards a glare when this one spoke to prompt the girl from her trip down memory lane, presumably to prevent her from speaking further. Mustang took charge of the conversation again, when it became apparent the princess wasn’t going to elaborate beyond the few vague hints she’d dropped.

“We are going to need details on your,” he hesitated, “assailant’s appearance to track them down swiftly. I must also ask you, if you would be willing to identify this culprit once we’ve apprehended them.” Glancing about the more, he added with a placating smile. “Anonymously, of course.”

Heymans silently marvelled that the boss was willing to accommodate these people so much. He reckoned there was a good reason, perhaps even some history behind it.

The Xingese didn’t seem to grasp how much of a compromise Mustang was offering. The princess shook her head, the beads in her long braids jingling against each other at the movement. “I will not. You, sir, have not answered my question yet. You’ve only confirmed that Dorchette has died. My new guards already informed me before your arrival that he wasn’t to be found in this ward, nor at our last known location.” Heymans’s pencil hovered motionless above his pad for a moment. She was starting to slip up with the information she disclosed again. Perfect! And she was still talking. The older guard at the door shifted his weight - likely to alert the princess she was losing focus around the investigators, but if she noticed, she just barged on.

“And you are sorely mistaken, if you think I had any sort of ties with that twitchy man, the drug abuser.” She frowned. “It is sad we could not help him with his problems, but it’s not a matter of great importance now. You have told me nothing of my other friends.”

Heymans was starting to think this whole jaunt might be resolved peacefully and prove useful after all to boot. Until the girl continued her line of questioning. “What about Xiao May, my panda, have you found her too? Is she safe and looked after? If your people harmed her-” She let the threat hang.

Heymans stared dumbfounded. She’d been involved in a murder case - got seriously injured while doing so - and here she was worrying about a pet? She must be lying. Neither he nor Riza had spotted large paw prints of the size she was implying. Whenever working the scene in back alleys, Heymans paid additional attention to possible stray dogs lurking about, so he was sceptical of the odds of having overlooked the tell-tale signs of a giant panda.

“She’s just a tiny thing and she’s been with me forever.” The princess’s steel tone wobbled on the last syllables. Heymans plotted the probability of her latest statements, while bracing himself for the teary breakdown he’d expected upon first laying eyes upon her.

So far her tale was…rather farfetched, but not completely impossible. Heymans scratched the back of his head as he regarded the diminutive girl. Tiny panda, indeed. Birds of a feather might just flock together after all. He humoured her and made a quick note.

May continued to list her objections. “And you purposely left out what happened to-”

Now the nearest guard at her side spoke up too softly to be clearly heard by any but his mistress, clearly overstepping his bounds to do so, even if Heymans couldn’t follow what was exchanged, as the Chang girl replied, her tone short, but her commanding voice wavering. Interesting. Perhaps she would give up a more revealing emotional attachment.

May broke the brief stalemate with shaky resolution. “Mr. Mustang, have your men also harboured the body of Alphonse? Or has a demand for ransom been made?”

To Heymans’s surprise, his boss hesitated. It was so brief, you either had to know him personally or have special training to notice. Sadly, in their company that meant everyone marked it. Mustang played dumb regardless. “Alphonse?”

Miss Chang did not appreciate being strung around like that. “The name is familiar to you; don’t take me for a fool. Alphonse Elric! What happened to him? He was the primary target of the attack. They seemed to want him alive, but it all happened so fast. I was trying to heal Dorchette, before…” She cut herself off and turned a glare with all the heat of the East Desert on the pair of agents. “Tell me what you know or leave now.”

That last name rang a bell with Heymans. Not from any recent case and he had only ever met Edward Elric, Hughes’ odd boy. Yet it seemed to mean something significant to the Chief, and Heymans resolved to find out what the connection was between another mysterious Elric, Mustang and the - dare he say - attached princess.

‘Alphonse Elric, Alphonse…’ With the lull in the conversation, Heymans let his mind chase down the familiarity. It was now obviously pertinent to their current case. He’d heard it before, read it before, quite some time ago since the memory wasn’t as sharp as those of the past two years. And then he had it. The digging he’d asked Charlie to do into the Elric family back in 1911! But the Chief’s move just now had been made with deliberate slowness, like he did when he was shielding someone from a potential threat. This meant that Roy had learned a whole lot more since that conversation years ago, and intentionally kept it from Heymans - one of his closest team members. That in turn meant, Heymans swallowed a sigh, that this case was about to get a lot more complicated.

Saturday, April 14 1911, 15:15 - Central Prison - Main Complex - Visitation area

The newspapers were heralding the Flame Alchemist’s rapidly approaching court day and Roy couldn’t deny he was glad for Olivia’s offer to get him off the hook by working for a different branch of the new government.

Before her conclusive visit, scheduled for the next week, Roy needed to have all his demands presentable in an ironclad manner. He still had some reservations, some lose ends he needed to tie up first before they struck the final bargain, and Roy wanted to be sure of his stipulations, so he knew where to compromise to Olivia’s demands and where to put his foot down - and hope she didn’t cut him off at his metaphorical ankle. Roy had arranged for Falman to be present at his next appointment with Armstrong as well, since they would be drawing up an official contract which would spell to the letter both Roy’s freedom from prison and death, and his limitations to said freedom in the outside world. While Roy was not so bad a slouch at paperwork as he’d allowed his military reputation to reflect, he wasn’t going to fold the ace of having legislatively savvy backup when it came to his future dreams and goals. It was amazing how just the promise of a new life had rekindled Roy’s ambition to good health after little more than 48 hours of hearing an option B. Roy didn’t care for self-analysis, but he reckoned it might just be the shock of his sudden drastically improved life expectancy.

His new list of priorities could roughly be summarised as: getting good deals out of the bargain with Olivia for the inner circle of his former platoon, followed by how many privileges - on par with an average citizen - he could wring out of the negations. That left one last thing he couldn’t in good conscious ignore, until he had more facts.

This was why Roy had - through Breda - called in a favour with one of his former comrades. One who could dig where Fuery, Breda or Falman would fall under suspicion at this time. The media was trying to uncover anything about the Devil of Ishval - Roy thought the moniker accurate enough - and his close associates. Another asset was that Charlie worked fast and efficiently without leaving any trace, always had, even back in Ishval. All of these elements combined formed the reason why Roy had contacted him about the one matter he still needed to sort out, after hearing Olivia’s proposal.

If Charlie had discovered anything worth mentioning, he would have passed it on to one of Roy’s people by now. All the more reason to have high expectations of his weekly visitor.

When Roy was escorted into the visitation area, Breda sat casually slouched with an elbow propped up on the little table. The pair of them discussed everything from the weather, which was miserable, to Riza’s new pet. Their mundane conversation was designed to discourage the only other pair in the room from listening in. Not that Kimblee or his attorney seemed interested in matters other than their own. The pair of them were seated on the opposite side of the room, but one could never be too careful, especially around a known psychopath.

When they were as sure as they could be that Kimblee wasn’t listening in, Breda got down to business. “Sir, this is all dear old Charlotte could find on that kid you asked about.” Using Roy’s womanizer code to protect their associates was an old habit for his close comrades and one they upheld whenever they weren’t 100% sure of the security of their meeting place. From his inner jacket pocket, Breda fished out three birth certificates, a faded family picture of a young mother and two small children, and three newspaper articles in varying stages of age, as he extrapolated. “Single parent family, used to live in a small apartment in the eastern district of South City. Two kids: Edward, born in 1899 and Alphonse, a turn-of-the-century baby. Found hide nor hair of the father. No wedding or cohabitation contracts, no pictures nor personal items, except for an old journal and some alchemy books in storage under the Elric name.”

Roy nodded. An absent father wasn’t rare; the books on alchemy were a potentially relevant discovery, though. “You had a look at those books, I presume.”

“Alchemy wasn’t an Academy elective for me, Boss.” Breda grinned. “You know I know jack squat about that stuff. But there were a few clear beginners’ books, as well as the more advanced stuff, from what little I could tell.”

“Anything on obscure alchemic matters that the investigation overlooked in their rush to get a conviction?” Because the latest developments in politics and jurisdiction looked grim even for the common alchemist, whose understanding of the craft was more along the lines of an odd hobby. The government was taking its watchdog policies to new extremes - a most stifling climate for scientists. Regardless, in Elric’s case, there would have been a thorough investigation with careful evidence confiscation, prior to a closed hearing jury trial for such a young boy to end up in the maximum security prison in the same wing as former State Alchemists. The most vital pieces of their puzzle were most likely under lock and key in some stuffy state archive.

Breda shook his head. “Most professional investigators aren’t that incapable, you know, to miss such crucial clues. Even if certain MP’s sometimes make us think otherwise.” That last part was more grumbled to himself, so Roy ignored it. Breda didn’t need any prodding to get back to the original topic. “Lucky for us, your buddy Hughes has been working his way up the investigation chain and has access these days to more of the generally restricted cases. It wasn’t hard to get him to look into this one for you.”

Roy smiled fondly at how lucky he was with such loyal and skilled people watching his back and granting personal favours, even when his tally ran out.

Breda shifted on his chair. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. First, there’s something interesting about the family.”

Roy raised an eyebrow, surprised that that would need discussing over an A class offense.

“Nice folks, according to the neighbours. Never had much trouble with that family.” Bit hard for Roy to imagine the Little Hellion as ‘not much trouble’, but fair enough Edward didn’t strike Roy as a truly amoral brat either.

“The mother, Trisha Elric, worked part-time in a flower shop. A regular, decent citizen: all paper trails indicate she never set a foot outside South Area: no illegal alien, no smuggler or spy. Kids born at home, though she did wait long to get her kids a doctor check-up. They were three and two at the time. Other than that, no skeletons in her closet of any kind, except for the unknown father of her kids and it’s not like she was the only single parent in that city.” Roy picked up on the past tense use, but kept quiet. If it was relevant, Breda would get around to it in due time.

“All as normal as can be. Then, in autumn 1904 and Miss Elric up and disappears, leaving two boys of five and four alone. One of the neighbours - Sig Curtis - filed a missing person report with the local LEO’s on the boys’ behalf. Three weeks after that report was filed, this appeared in the South Area Post.” Breda sorted out the oldest newspaper clipping, from October 1904, and handed it over to Roy. The headline read: Body of missing woman, 26, found near South City channel. There was a small black and white portrait of Trisha Elric smiling at the camera in the middle of the text, but nothing about the article stood out.

Roy gave his former underling the ‘spill it’ look. “What else?”

Breda shrugged. “It’s just unusual. With a public investigation, not matter how minor and the paperwork involved, you’d think her kids would be herded into the system instead of slipping through the cracks, right? Except those boys were never placed into an orphanage, because it wasn’t necessary. The apartment they lived in? The bills for the apartment - rent, water, gas and electricity - never came in the mail, but the supply was never cut off either. Apparently Curtis volunteered to provide meals for the kids until they were old enough to do it themselves and that was the end of it.”

Roy scowled. “So what you are saying is that an ordinary woman disappears overnight, but her children’s material needs are all taken care of for years in advance?”

Breda nodded. “Those kids may have thought nothing of it, probably assumed Curtis took care of everything, not just the meals. Except he didn’t; swore to who inquired over the years that he didn’t have a clue who funded all those bills.” He grinned. “Fortunately, we’re good at this investigative business. As it turns out, Miss Elric set up a trust fund for those kids the day she signed the rental contract for the apartment they lived in.” A couple of papers detailing bank statements were turned over to Roy. “I don’t know about you, but if that’s the annual salary of florists these days I think I might make a career switch.”

Roy frowned. “It certainly is suspicious. Did you find nothing more on the matter?”

“You know how long it takes for banks to hand over a money trail that might stink, Chief. We’re trying to work around them. No success so far.”

Roy nodded, neither pleased nor all that surprised. “That leaves us with two very young, mostly unsupervised boys living on their own, until one of them is arrested, processed and dumped here. What about the other one?”

“Not seen after the summer of ’10.” Breda presented Roy with the next, even shorter, though indeed far more recent article from August 1910. There was no picture and only a few lines of text, which proclaimed that an alchemic accident had occurred in a certain residential block of South City’s eastern district, and that the culprit had been immediately detained and transported to the nearest hospital, where a formal arrest would take effect once the accused was stabilized and no longer hovering on death’s door.

Roy looked at his companion in disbelief. Even with anti-alchemic paranoia at a peak height, both at the time and on-going, it stretched the limits of credulity that a mere accident would land Edward in Complex A and could have his brother, Alphonse, vanishing without a trace. The final newspaper clipping from February ’11 - right around the time Ed was tossed into prison - yielded little in terms of new information. It simply proclaimed the sentencing of the oldest Elric to ‘death row turned lifetime in prison’ for violating the prohibition on human transmutation, along with a conviction for murder of the first degree. No details of any kind added.

Roy’s brow furrowed in thought. He needed more than this to work with. “Hughes didn’t happen to get a glance at the court papers too, did he?”

Breda grinned. “Doubting your best friend now? I’ll have to pass that on; Maes will be sulking for a week.” Another of Breda’s pockets yielded a rolled up bundle of papers. They were copies from fragments of the hearing that yielded a solid conviction for Edward Elric. There were also some bad quality copies of pictures taken at what must have been the crime scene. Low quality as the grainy copies were, it was easy to believe the pictures to be fakes, due to the surreal image they painted. Put together with the fragmented report, they made more sense, but were no less unbelievable.

According to the files, Edward had admitted to nothing, but the facts found at the scene spoke for themselves and, from there, it wasn’t hard to draw certain logical conclusions. According to the initial police report, the closest neighbours had heard screaming and had seen the light of alchemic rebound flash past their windows - both signs impossible to miss in a crowed apartment building. Mr. Curtis had been the first person on the scene and had saved Ed from dying of blood loss. As such a key witness, Mr. Curtis had been called to testify at the kid’s trial. He was also the first person to claim that Alphonse Elric was dead.

“Edward didn’t deny his younger brother’s death at the trial.” Breda pointed at another page of the copies. “One of the local LEO’s arrived on the scene shortly before Edward was rushed to the hospital.” The given statement of the officer was that the boy wasn’t conscious for long and the only thing the police officer had been able to get out the kid was a mantra of ‘He’s not dead.’ “Of course, that was easily ruled out as shock. As I said, Edward didn’t deny Alphonse’s death at trial. But I talked to a few of those attending jury members. According to them, it sure looked like the kid wanted to object to the murder accusation, but kept his mouth shut.”

And that seemed even more out of character, from what Roy had witnessed of the boy’s abrasive behaviour in the past two months. If Edward had something to say, you could be sure he would spit it in your face instead of talking quietly behind your back.

“You suspect a cover-up, with the kid in the know about it.” Roy stated.

Breda nodded. “From what you’ve told me of him, I’d say so, yes, if it was possible.” A pause. “You’re the alchemy expert here, Colonel. Is it possible somehow?”

“For them both to have survived the rebound of human transmutation? It would be unprecedented.” Roy rubbed a hand across his face. “But even if both somehow survived, it doesn’t make sense to spirit one kid away and leave the other to face charges.” He leafed through the rest of the report. “Even if that neighbour, Curtis, was in on it, there still didn’t seem to be enough time to perform first aid on probably two mutilated kids - on the astronomically slim chance both survived - and get one out of the immediate area and still be within the apartment with the second child when the police showed up. The response time was too fast to allow that. That means that, unless we’re looking at some new form of chimeric alchemy or a similar branch of the art…”

Breda harrumphed. “That Alphonse is really just another victim of fatal alchemic experiments.” He concluded soberly. “Too bad. Such a very young kid.”

Roy smiled at him, even if the whole affair left a sour taste in his mouth. “Admit it, Breda, you liked the potential mystery.”

His comrade nodded and stood, their allotted timeslot was running out anyway. “That too.” He grabbed his hat and made to leave. “Hey, Boss, there was one more thing Hughes wanted you to know.”

Roy waved him off. “I know, I owe him big for this.”

Breda laughed. “Perhaps but he said to give you tell you this: if you manage get the kid out,” Hughes knew him too well, “and Curtis doesn’t take him, Maes and Gracia volunteer.”

With those parting words, Roy was escorted back to his cell. He’d been given a lot of intel to ponder. There was still the oddity with the boys’ unknown benefactor. The disappearance and most likely death of Alphonse Elric could be neatly explained away, but the tiny details kept nagging at Roy. To know for sure, he would need to go to the source. However, the chances of the midget confiding in him were hardly within the realm of possibilities. But Roy could play smart. Given how Edward reacted to taunts about his mother... Roy smirked. Kids were easy to manipulate and his new ploy just might work.

Sunday, April 15 1911, 01:11 - Central Prison - Complex A

Ed took a deep breath, counting down the minutes in his head. All other inmates on their block had been asleep for at least an hour after the latest cell sweep, Ed judged by their slow breathing patterns. There was an interval of about three hours before the guards performed the next check, leaving him now with two spare hours. With the up-kept regimen of interrupted sleep, the former alchemists quickly learned to doze off in ten minutes, tops.

His plan had been difficult to communicate, but both Ed and Crichton were masters of code. Just a few more minutes now, if Crichton held up his end of the deal, and then Ed could stop wasting time in this rat hole and go out there into the wide world to get Al’s body back. He could all but taste the exhilaration of freedom already.

As a teen travelling without a permit from Creta, Ashley Crichton had upon apprehension for petty theft - at age sixteen and with no family to speak of - kept his interest in and gradual mastery of the art of alchemy concealed from his captors, and as a result been shipped into the less monitored general ward, along with the other caught illegal aliens trying to set up shop in Central. Ed had a running theory that the increase of underage illegal aliens could be attributed to all the violent conflicts Amestris instigated, leaving more war orphans to make their own way in the world. Al had expanded that hypothesis by adding that these urchins might more easily adapt to their new surrounding in Amestris than the older generation and be perceived as less of a threat. Thus they might successfully blend in as potential spies, should Amestris’ neighbours adopt so amoral a policy as to use those children. Regardless of the underlying reason, held in lower risk zone, Ashley was at liberty to draw transmutation circles of his own blood, whereas Ed’s own hands were stocked to prevent just such a scenario. Ed and Ashley’s covert sharing of information during Ed’s exercise walks - disguised as ribbing back and forth over Crichton’s girly name and Ed’s lack of stature - revealed that Crichton wanted to stick around in prison, at least until he could get certain information out of the former State Alchemists. Without either party revealing too much, a coalition of sorts was struck. Ashley, who wanted to know more about the Gate of Truth, would break out and come and free Ed during his escape. Once they were free, the pair would pool knowledge regarding leads on the Philosopher’s Stone, which was Ed’s goal in restoring his little brother.

The minutes ticking by stretched on endlessly. Adrenaline rushed through Ed’s body. Soon, very soon now… Rustling of sheets from the cell to his left jarred his attention back to the present. He growled in agitation. Not that it really made a difference if Mustang was already awake, he supposed. Crichton would hardly be silent about his escape, so most of this bunch would be awake anyway when Ed waved them goodbye. It might actually be nice to get a good look at their faces when he did. Ed grinned. It was their loss that the pompous pricks kept underestimating him.

“Oi, Ed.” The whisper startled him and he cursed out loud. What could the bastard possibly want with him, especially at this hour?

“Shut it, Mustang. I’m trying to sleep here.”

His neighbour snorted. He wasn’t that bad at lying, was he? Now, Al, he didn’t have a crooked bone in his body, but Ed thought he’d put enough irritation into his last statement to sound genuine. Apparently, the Flame Alchemist just didn’t buy it. “Sure, you are. Don’t worry then, I’ll keep it short.”

Ed snarled. “Who are you calling-”

Mustang shushed him sharply. “Do you want to wake everyone up?”

Ed shrugged on reflex, not that the man could see the nonverbal gesture. “Why not? Then you lot can all be cranky in the morning together. What ruins your day makes mine.”

Mustang sighed like a man who’s at the end of his rope. Ed smirked. ‘Mission accomplished.’ Until the man spoke up. “Look, Ed, we both know you’re not the dangerous criminal persona you’re trying to uphold to keep both the guards and the sleazier types during yard time at bay.”

Ed bristled. Was the man trying to psychoanalyse him? Ed had laughed in the face of the few counsellors that had been sent his way since he ended up in this mess. They quickly learned they would get nothing from him. And here this guy, a man facing trial for bloody genocide, thought he was so much better than all of them? Ed resolved to shove his own escape in Mustang’s face right then and there, just to get the insufferable dick to shut up.

However, Mustang was quicker and his question - tone suddenly dead serious and commanding - caught Ed completely off guard. “In August 1910, what really happened to your little brother Alphonse?”

Monday, August 15, 1910, 01:03 - South City - Eastern District - The Elrics’ apartment

The eleven-year old boy forgot to breathe, staring in a combination of denial, horror and guilt. He had been squinting through the semi-darkness of the spare-room-turned-study, looking for anything of use to fix this somehow. The thought pounded in his head in time with his racing heartbeat, which pumped more blood out of his stump. Too much, he knew, but not nearly as awful as the - from what he could see, couldn’t look away - almost 3 out of the total 5.3 liters of blood spilling freely out of the Thing, which should have - been perfect - contained it.  Ed’s focus had lingered on the only other moving, living thing in the room - in their whole small apartment - at the result of what should have been their best transmutation ever. Try as he might, he could not tear his eyes away from the not-Mom, part-Al Thing. But he needed to keep looking; needed to keep searching for a way to fix Alphonse.

Charged static lingered in the air even now that most of the discharged energy had dissolved, making Ed’s hair stand on and skin prickle. Not that such a small matter was really all that noticeable beyond the waves of agony rolling through his nerves from where his left leg used to continue beyond his knee. He couldn’t freak out over how that had happened either, not when Al was - like that.

The light bulbs had shattered; the only illumination in the sudden darkness was the night-time illumination on the block, which shone in through the tiny study’s now-blown-out window.

The arms and single leg that kept Ed from slumping to the ground shook with strain, his small body growing increasingly weaker from the combination of barely contained panic, oncoming shock and continued blood loss. His heart beat a rapid rhythm that almost hurt in his chest and the rush of blood in his ears managed to drown out most other sound.

Except for the thumping of that other heart; unblocked by the ribcage, the muscles and skin that should wrap around it protectively, so unnaturally loud it overpowered all other sound. Its beat was irregular, spiking and faltering without pattern. Then there was the wet wheeze of lungs trying to suck in air and drowning in blood instead. Flesh hitting flesh as not-Mom-not-Al, because that - that Thing couldn’t possibly be their mom, nor his little brother, tried to move more than a twitch and failed. Then, with a wilder flail, too thin nails - not enough calcium - were scraping, breaking on bare hardwood, where the thin carpet had been removed to form the centre of a chalk circle now stained liquid red, from where pints of blood dripped, ran and squirted over the edge of the ingredient basin.

All the liquid-covered intestines caught and reflected the meagre light in the cramped room, and then two eyeballs, stuck in a head that was fortunately whole, but with more red liquid still pouring from all natural holes, focused on him. Ed wanted to scream, to crawl away or even just to blink - shut the horrible image out for a millisecond. Then he heard it again, as the Thing found enough oxygen to speak once more in a wet, choking rasp of damaged vocal cords, squeezed from struggling lungs. “Bro-ther.”

Ed finally unfroze, only to curse. Damn, he hadn’t imagined it earlier! ‘Al.’ Somehow the disfigured not-Mom thing really was part-Alphonse. ‘How is that even possible? No, wait, just now, in that Gate.’ The knowledge he needed, out of all the information that had been poured, pounded, sloshed into his brain…

‘The mind, body and soul are all linked.’ Ed only lost his leg to that - Truth, with its disturbing smile and the Gate. ‘But Al, he was taken whole. Body, mind and soul. All elements are connected.’ Except now, somehow, Al was over there in that monstrous, that dying thing. Ed wasn’t alone, he had Al back. The thing in the circle already had all ingredients for the body and mind to form, which meant… That Al’s soul was stuck in the pitiful not-human thing that was dying.

“Al,” a breath, a sob, a curse, and Ed didn’t know what to do!

The not-Mom, part-Al Thing twitched, neck tilting, organs still a pulsing, leaking mess. “Hurt-s.” Drawn out, difficult to form the word, a pain to try and breathe. Eyes that flickered with recognition, and then shut as mangled breath hitched and cut off. The spiking heart slowed down again, further and further. Then it stopped, even as more blood dripped and spilled.

“Al?” Ed needed to move, to figure out how to make this better. His arms finally gave out, but it didn’t matter. He only needed to think, like he had been trying before. Not panic, but think. ‘Come back, don’t leave me. Please, anyone…’ “ALPHONSE!” ‘Think, damnit!’ Was there enough blood left in his brain to think? He was feeling light headed, couldn’t focus.

A sudden boom heralded another sign of life, startling some alertness back into his quitting body, as the front door was kicked in and more light spilled in. It was Mr. Curtis from next door. The big softie, who ever since Mom died gave him and Al burgers and steak and sausage - and some vegetables, because growing boys needed vegetables - for dinner. And Ed was now really never ever going to get his mom back and Al…

Then Mr. Curtis was next to him, ripping cloth for a tourniquet to stop Ed’s bleeding. Not that any of that mattered to Ed, except Mr. Curtis was trying to take him away, clearly alarmed and angry. Even though Ed wanted to leave this place and never come back, he needed to stay. Remain right there until he figured it out how to get Al back. Not whole, he didn’t have enough to offer, even if he gave all of himself. Just a part then, the most important part that made Al unique and human: the soul.

Ed knew the theory, now, having seen most of the Truth. He could use his own blood, there was plenty lying around just waiting to be used. But what to bind Al’s soul to? There were only some books in the room and broken glass and in the other rooms there was the furniture, but nothing remotely useful for a successful soul-binding, where the alchemist could anchor the soul in an inanimate metal object through the iron in the blood rune.

He couldn’t fight Mr. Curtis off. The man was huge and Ed was just not damned tall enough and all strength had left his limbs, he wouldn’t even be sitting upright if the big man hadn’t been holding him up. Black fuzzy spots danced across his vision. He was running out of time.

‘Wait a minute.’ If he was going to use his blood anyway... Ed’s still shaking hands clenched. “Wait,” It came out as a croak, but it got Curtis’s attention. “I can get Al back. Just,” He blinked again. ‘Damned black spots!’ “Give me one minute.”

Ed lifted his shirt, daubing his fingers in the blood seeping through his makeshift bandage. Willed his hands to steady and draw the needed sigils. It was almost simple, now that he knew. Use the medium of blood to call to blood alike; to bind and sustain the flare of life - the incalculable element - that was Al’s very soul. A circle over his heart to call Al’s soul from wherever it had gone next to his own body. Another formula on his forehead to act as the link from his mind to Al’s, which was still somewhere with the Truth. Finally, more circles as insurance over his arms, because no way was he going to pull this off without more toll. Which didn’t matter, as long as this transmutation worked the way it was intended. He only had one shot at it.

He pleaded with Mr. Curtis to put him down, just for a minute, just long enough, so Ed didn’t accidentally draw the nice man with him in the deconstruction, to the Gate and the Truth of the world. No time to search for more chalk in the disarray of the previous attempt, no space in the room left for the final human transmutation circle to be drawn either. Screw it, Ed could be his own circle. He slapped his hands together and stood back before the Gate and its eerie, intimidating guardian with the huge smile and his own leg. Ed was beyond caring, just got in the weird thing’s blank face and bartered for Al’s soul.

Sunday, April 15 1911, 01:16 - Central Prison - Complex A

A loud booming sound shook the sturdy walls of the prison block and had their eardrums ringing from the aftershock that passed through the building, effectively waking everyone and startling Edward out of his frozen trance.

“Mind your own damn business, Mustang! You hear that?” He waved an arm at the far wall theatrically. It wasn’t like any of them could have missed the tremor.

Kimblee spoke, his voice, carrying, despite the ruckus outside and the general confusion being vocalized inside. “Ah, a magnificent explosion of reinforced concrete at close range. Sounds like some artist is staging a breakout.” That caused quite the uproar among the others, who were desperate to use the situation as a diversion to escape themselves.

Roy frowned at that. The blast had not been in their wing, but farther off. More from the direction of general ward. Then Edward was suddenly as close to Roy as the kid could get with a wall and bars still separating them. “You think you’re so superior, don’t you, Mustang? Well, let me tell you: that explosion is my ticket out of here. Now, who’s clever?” The kid sounded triumphant. So sure of himself, so utterly confident that nothing could harm him now.

Time to change that. After all, Roy couldn’t have the boy try to escape on some hare-brained scheme, a fugitive ever after, if he somehow managed to pull it off without getting himself killed in the process. Roy wasn’t going to allow that when he might be able to spring Edward legally, once he confirmed the boy’s character. Child or not, Roy wasn’t about to let someone accused of murder roam free, if it was true.

“You do realize that if you just break out of here without a solid plan, you’ll be hunted nationwide as a top priority security risk until you’re caught again and put into a straitjacket and diapers for the rest of your time here. That was life, wasn’t it? My, what a pleasant outlook.” Roy let sarcasm bleed into his words, but talked fast, so the impatient imp would at least have to hear him out before he could protest. “That is, if they don’t just shoot you on sight, before you even reach the gates. Now, does that truly sound like a risk worth taking to you, if there is a safer alternative?” He let his voice drop further, so the boy had to strain to hear him over the mounting cacophony of blaring sirens in the courtyard and laced his tone with urgency. “A perfectly legal alternative, I might add. I could get you out with a blank slate, within the next few months, even.”

Ed didn’t sound impressed as he paced his cell restlessly, awaiting the arrival of his conspirator. “I think you’re being very optimistic for a guy who, according to all rumours, will be dead by that time. Funny how people frown upon genocide after the fact, isn’t it, Mustang?”

Roy wasn’t going to explain himself and the atrocities of the Civil War to a snot-nosed brat, who was only trying to divert the subject, while on the edge of making the mistake of a lifetime. “What you don’t know is that I still have excellent connections thanks to my reputation. You should know it’s all about connections among adults - you yourself make buddies with people from the other wards often enough for a chance at being passed small treats or bits of information. How you pull it off in front of the guards is quite competent.” There, treat him like and equal of sorts, thrown in a little praise and he had the kid’s attention. It was so very easy. “You ever heard of the Strong Arm Alchemist? He got out some time before you even got in. Just because he knew the right people.”

Roy’s manipulation should have gone smooth, except his words didn’t have the intended effect. “Spare your breath.” The brat outright dismissed him, just like that. “I have all the connections I need. ‘My buddy’, as you put it, is getting me out. And I have great prospects after that, so you can just shove your deal.” Another explosion, much closer this time rocked the building. As if it had been a signal, Edward’s pacing stopped and for a moment Roy couldn’t make out anything over commotion being raised by his fellow inmates and the blaring alarm.

Then a teenager in prison garb barged through the door at the end of the hallway. “Elric, where are you?” Edward waved the other teen down like he was particularly eager to flag a taxi. Another transmutation, much smaller this time, sang through the air and then Edward was out of his cell, like the barred door had never been locked to begin with. The uproar swelled, bringing the first of the out of breath guards with it, while Edward’s stocks clattered to the floor, the wood slowly disintegrating.

“Freeze.” The guards opened fire without further warning. Shoot to kill orders then. Roy feared for the foolish kids’ lives. Then Edward clapped, slammed his hands to the floor and new walls rose to cut off the guards’ approach from both sides of the hallway. Without a transmutation circle, quick as thought, like such an advanced transmutation was mere child’s play. Then he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and turned to Crichton. “That’s an external wall, but we’re not even close to ground floor and I can only stretch a supporting wall so much without risking structural integrity. You got any ideas?”

Ashley didn’t comment. Activating the transmutation circle on his left hand, he simply blasted the indicated wall with what Roy judged to be a highly concentrated lightning charge. The voltage had to feed enough power into the double reinforced concrete to affect the molecular level, yet the radius was contained to Ed’s empty cell.

Ed’s smile was sharp. “Show-off. I could have done a little reshaping much faster.”

It seemed like Crichton wasn’t fond of banter. “Hurry it up, brat.” The other circle activated and worked with the snow and moisture already present in the air to form a large slide of sorts, stretching from the gaping hole in the wall to the ground on the outside of the towering prison enclosure. “I won’t let you die before I collect my due information.”

Edward sighed, waving a hand lazily, until the patrol on the surrounding walls opened fire on the ice structure. Then he reshaped part of his automail arm plating into a crude shield that could ricochet the bullet spray.

Roy cursed his own inability to prevent this whole situation from spiralling further out of control. “Damnit, Elric. The second I’m out of here a free man, I’ll come string you up and drag your tiny ass to safety, before someone else finds you and puts a bullet throw that impossible thick skull of yours.”

Edward gave him one last, calculating glance, just a hint of softness in his eyes. “You can try if you like. I know Crichton’s price in exchange for our freedom, I can’t be sure of yours. I’ll take my chances for now, thanks.” Then the impossible child went and took the slide towards fleeting freedom, the slide dissolving behind Ashley who followed the cover of Edward’s shielding, bullets whizzing past their ears all the way down. The red alert continued to wail impotently.

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