I can't believe this happened. I just can't fathom how it happened. To this day, I'll suddenly stop and think, 'This can't have happened, it didn't happen.' I've been denying it for so long that those words have started to lose their meaning, but I still can't accept the truth. It can't have happened…

But it did. Central fell to their army - our capital city, placed directly in the center of the country, hence the name Central. Many people would call it the heart of Amestris, not only because the main Headquarters of the Military was there, but because that cluster of buildings and bustling atmosphere summed up everything that is Amestris – power, strength and pride. Central is the soul of our country, the power behind the land, which only confuses me more as to why on earth they would attack there. You'd think it was suicide to declare a war and launch an attack straight for the center of such a great land. That's what we all thought, anyway… until they succeeded.

I myself would never call Central the heart of this land; to me, there's been too much death to be called a heart. Everything I ever saw of the city was hateful soldiers and state alchemists, the dogs of the military and the thugs of the government. I promised myself and my little brother that I would never become a despised state alchemist, that'd I'd live up to the rule: "State Alchemists, be thou for the people." I cannot tell you how many state alchemists failed to live up to that. That's why they called me "the hero of the people", even though the most important thing to me was always my little brother and our own selfish goal.

But right now, the hero of the people is dead to them. No one could stop the attack. As much as we tried and despite all the power we used against them... it was all a waste. Amestris is currently overridden by rogues and enemy soldiers that have ruthlessly crushed our country. Tiny, backcountry villages like Resembool and the forgotten ruins of Ishbal seem to be the only places where it's safe… and good luck getting there. The train stations are filled with patrolling enemies, their sharp, suspicious eyes everywhere all at once, and the security checks just to get on the train… heh, have fun getting by them. I've already scoped out the area. I barely escaped with my head intact. Escaping on foot is just as bad, even in disguise and hidden amongst the hoards of refugees. There seem to be checkpoints where the soldiers take up, sipping cups of tea whenever their commanding officers aren't watching, but nonetheless alert enough to be worth watching out for. Hiding in a crowd doesn't work very well when every last person is searched and ID'd.

I discovered that one first hand; due to my awesome luck I just had to get captured. And as you could probably guess, the prized Fullmetal alchemist, "The Hero of the People", was right at the front of the soldiers' bingo list, along with all my associates, including the legendary flame alchemist. I guess we were thick as thieves back in the day, so it's logical enough to assume I might know where he's hiding out… but interrogation really isn't my idea of fun.

Especially when you don't know anything. These idiotic soldiers automatically suspect we are all part of this resistance and we all know where every state alchemist resides. I can understand why I would have joined the alchemists' rebellion though. After all, alchemy runs in my very blood. It may be a science, but it's the closest thing to a religion that I have. It's almost all that's left to me, and they're even trying to take that away.

Alchemy is forbidden. Alchemy is despised by these soldiers and their leader. They have come to believe it is some kind of witchcraft, hideous and terrifying. I've tried and tried to tell them how wrong they are, that it's not magic but the purest form of science there is. These bastards won't believe a word I say. Every alchemy book in Central's massive libraries was burned, and you should see the "Purification Ceremonies" They're some kind of private ritual. Everyone's got their wild ideas of what they do to you. I've got my very own one soon. These religious freaks must "purify" us of our "sins" before we are executed. We also, I have heard, have to "renounce our god". As if an alchemist would believe in that shit! I am not renouncing a god because I have none. And I'm sure as hell not going to believe in their god. Alchemy is a science. It's my science, and I won't give it up.

I made a promise to my brother and I got his body back. But now I am making another promise: I will never give up. I will get this place back to normal, someday. I will get my country back. And I will personally make sure the leader of this corrupt military gets his throat slit.

… I really hope the last thing he sees in this world is the blue flash of alchemy.

Chapter One: Captured

Edward felt something hard and cold jab him painfully in the shoulder. "Hey, kid. Wake up."

"I'm already awake," Ed growled, rolling his bruised shoulder with a groan. He looked up and met the eyes of a man in a private's uniform, his rifle's positioned in the younger man's face. Edward instinctively flinched away as he stared down the black barrel, and the man took the opportunity to grab the stocks that bound the prisoner's hands, keeping them apart and stopping him from causing any damage with his alchemy The wooden board dug painfully into his wrists as he was lifted to his feet, but he refused to make a sound in front of the private. The man couldn't have been that much older than him, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two… and he still had his pride.

The man grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the prisoner's tent, leaving him struggling to keep his footing. The place Ed had been housed in for what felt like eternity could hardly even be considered a tent, more of a scrap of tarpaulin on four posts with no walls and numerous rips in the ceiling. Such a pathetic gesture of shelter didn't exactly help with the sand blowing up in their faces. Edward's mouth felt gritty with dirt within seconds, and he absentmindedly clamped his teeth and unclamped them, listening to the crunch of dirt.

"Where are we going?" Edward asked. The man's grip tightened on the back of Edward's neck at the hoarse sound of the alchemist's voice, and he shoved him forward with unnecessary roughness.

"We're getting your I.D. checked and you're getting a mark. Now shut up."

Edward did not like the sound of that, but he reluctantly obeyed the man's command and remained silent. Ed and the man stumbled through the sand, passing by many tents that were unsurprisingly a lot more substantial than his own. Clusters of soldiers sat around small fires, rubbing their hands over the flames as they talked and joked softly, many of them shooting wary glances at the prisoner as he passed. Ed felt the wind picking up sand and pelting him with it, as if even the elements had turned against him, and he shivered despite himself. He spotted a decent-looking tent on the other side of the campsite, and had long since guessed that this was where he was headed before he was shoved through and, finding the tent high enough, warily straightened.

An official-looking man wearing a uniform different than the private's turned to eyeball the disheveled alchemist with a stark gaze, before looking away as if bored already. Edward eyed him back with an equally baleful stare, scanning the uniform for any sign of exactly who he was facing. The man's clothing carried several medals on his shoulder, and was a black color, unlike the private's dirty gray. Shiny black boots made Ed think the man spent more time polishing his feet in the mornings than he did giving a shit about Amestris and its starving people. One of the brass, then.

The man shifted and Ed noticed he was holding a battered leather book in one arm. Taking a closer look, he easily recognized it as a bingo book. There was no doubt whose picture the man was scrutinising right then.

"Take off his shirt," he barked without interest, still looking down at the open book in his hands.

Ed groaned, but didn't resist as he felt the shirt being yanked up over his head. The torn fabric was too weak to stand the abuse, though, and it tore off at the sleeve and ended up being discarded to one side. Which now left him in shorts. Edward's teeth ground together as he restrained himself from punching the private's face in. The bastards could have at least left him with the dignity of a shirt.

"Automail left leg and automail right arm. Blond, light brown/gold eye color, small stocky build. Multiple scars from life in the military." The young alchemist resisted the urge to squirm when the man looked up from the book to give him a cursory glance, his eyes lingering on the exposed shoulder port, seemingly interested in the way the nuts and bolts connected straight into the boy's collarbone and ribs. It was a while before those dark eyes bothered looking up to meet his glare. "It seems you cut your hair and dyed it brown, but I do believe we have a match... isn't that right? Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"Wow, congratulations. You figured it out," Edward sneered, eyes glinting in barely controlled anger. Ed had cut his hair off short and dyed it brunette not long after the invasion was over; it had been hard to cut off the brain that was such a large part of his identity, but by that time, he'd do anything to keep his identity a secret. But it seemed these idiots were smarter than they looked… not difficult, considering how most of them looked like total dumb-asses.

The man smirked and stood up, folding his book with a satisfied snap and placing it under his arm. He stalked forward, though not, Ed noticed, within range of the Fullmetal's fists. "It's an honour. I want to personally give you your mark."

Unperturbed, the prisoner leered back with equal confidence. "What the fuck is a mark?"

"You'll see. Well… now we know who you are, it would be rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Colonel Brock Robeshaw." Ed suppressed a snigger at the pompous air he gave to his ridiculous name. However unfunny his situation, it was worth a bit of laughter to see the fury on the Colonel's face. "On the other hand, I don't believe we have your name. You see, someone burned your files down at the HQ in Central. I wonder who would do that."

Edward smirked. The Colonel Bastard was covering his back? Though he'd never say it to that shithead's face, Edward had to admit he really hoped Mustang was still alive.

"My name is none of your goddamned business!" he replied tartly, his voice rising with passion as he watched Robeshaw flinch back slightly. He laughed in the man's face. What a bunch of goons! How the hell had these losers managed to take over their country?! The memory of Central falling made the laughter drain from his face. How did they…?

The Colonel's confidence returned as he saw the misery trail across Edward's face. "You'd better watch your insolent little mouth! Come with me." Misguidedly assuming it was his threat that had made his prisoner shut up, Robeshaw grinned and suddenly grabbed the boy's ragged hair to drag him bodily out of the tent. The Colonel brought him out back and two men appeared from nowhere to grab each of Ed's arms. Watching Robeshaw walk off towards one of the many fires burning nearby, Ed began to have a sinking feeling. Glancing around, he saw the two men restraining him give him a wary glance, their grips tightening. The man holding his automail arm seemed especially hesitant but grabbed it regardless. Feeling fear rise unwanted in his chest, Ed began to wonder what they were restraining him for until he saw it. Robeshaw had retrieved a long iron pole, an insignia engraved at the end. It was a branding iron, and it was glowing cherry red with heat.

Oh shit! Ed started thrashing against the men's hold as soon as his brain put two and two together. He desperately tried to touch his hands together but the stocks forbade it, the wooden board resisting even his considerable strength.

"Shit! What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Ed yelled, twisting, writhing, even trying to bite the man on his right. Anything to get that brand away from him. It radiated deadly heat even from so far away and he cringed back as the Colonel slowly swung it up to chest-height. He gestured something to one of the men and they pulled Ed's shoulder down. They were going to brand the back of his shoulder?!

"What the hell? What's the sense of this?! Let go! Stop!" Ed screamed but no one listened, as if they were used to seeing people being branded. Ed gritted his teeth and heard one last crunch before a flame of agony ignited on his shoulder. The pain was almost too much. He gritted his teeth and felt the searing pain like millions of little needles piercing the spot where the iron was. He could feel bile rise in his throat but he swallowed it and took the pain, the world spinning before his eyes. He would not scream. No matter how much it hurt, he wouldn't make a scene. He wouldn't let them win. This was nothing.

This pain is nothing compared to what Al had to endure.

His knees gave in as he felt the brand being pulled away, his melted flesh sticking to the iron being ripped off. Though the pressure was gone, the burning didn't let up, let alone cease. Ed felt more bile coming up and he retched onto he ground, unable to stop the urge anymore.

The men released him with mutters of disgust and he fell to all fours on the ground, shaking helplessly. He barely managed to wipe his mouth off onto his bare flesh arm before the ground rushed up to meet him, his vision tunneled, and he blacked out.

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When Ed woke up he was face down in the ground. The stocks were still separating his hands, the wooden board digging into his stomach so that it was hard to breathe. Dirt was stuck to his face and he groaned wiping it off on his shoulder. Trying to regain his senses, he sat up and looked around.

He saw several people nearby and, glancing round, realised he was back in the prisoners' tent. Two people huddled around another figure who was sprawled on their front, crying out softly. He could just about make out the flesh burn on their shoulder. By the looks of it he and that person on the ground were the only alchemists. This 'mark' was obviously a marking to signify their particular "brand" of sinners, no pun intended. Ed smirked bitterly to himself. He only wished he'd realised sooner.

The young alchemist straightened out and made to move towards them when he fell gracelessly back down on his rear. Looking at his feet he found them shackled. He swore, then frowned and glanced around surreptitiously. He could easily draw out a transmutation circle on the ground, making a weapon and breaking his bonds, but the numbers of men with guns here were too great. There were at least 3 dozen soldiers in the camp, all with orders to shoot to kill. Carefully, on his metal shoulder, he scrabbled and army-crawled over to the other people.

"What's wrong?"

The people jumped and stared at him. One was a dark skinned woman who didn't even look 30, the other a man with graying hair and a weathered face. Both pairs of eyes were filled with concern.

The man looked back down at the alchemist groaning on the ground, before glaring up at him with renewed fury. "They branded him. Like he was an animal."

Ed scoffed sadly, his eyes distant. "Alchemists to them are animals. They think we're some Satan worshipers or something... the dickheads." He looked down at the oblivious, trembling figure on the ground, frowning slightly. "So… he's an alchemist?"

"Yes, he wasn't part of the state. He just practiced at home."

"How did they find out he used alchemy?"

The woman shook her head bitterly. "You've heard of the rewards they give out for alchemists."

Ed sighed, wincing. "So he got sold out?"

Both of them nodded as the young man on the ground whimpered again. Ed shook his head. Any alchemist could be ratted out to the occupying army for a fair amount of money. Even children who had messed around with the science were sent to concentration camps. But state alchemists…? State alchemists were worth a lot of money. He'd come to learn that the hard way, as had all his companions in Amestris's military.

"You were burned too?" The woman asked, looking at his shoulder, which he suddenly noticed had been wrapped in gauze. He nodded. The woman looked surprised. "We heard everyone getting branded – they screamed bloody murder. We never heard you when you went, so…" She trailed off, her meaning plain.

Ed shrugged, regretting the motion as the pain seared again. He swallowed the discomfort down, forcing a weary smile onto his face. "No pain I feel can compare to what my little brother had to endure. Besides… I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of screaming."

The young woman's brown furrowed with concern and she sighed heavily, sympathy in her eyes. "Maybe you should...once in a while, or they'll… break you in. As you said, all they see you as is some kind of animal. They may end up hurting you so bad they'll have to drag you to your… purification ceremony."

Ed made a face, sickened. "Purification ceremonies," he muttered under his breath, the two words laced with a wealth of scorn."What a load of bullshit." He turned his head back down towards the kid. His breathing was short and quick. Edward didn't like the look of that. He'd seen people go into shock over much less, and he somehow doubted the prisoners would be afforded medical treatment just to survive until execution. "How old is he?" Ed asked.

"Twelve," The two answered in unison. Ed felt his rage rise. How could they do this to a child? Ed felt his shoulders slacken as he looked up at the tarp flapping above them. He could remember when he giving up being a child at the same tender age, joining the military and becoming the military's lap dog. Just leaving the military to get some time off or find leads on the philosophers stone had been like gnawing his own leash off.

"How old are you?"

Ed blinked, lost in his memories, and looked back down at the woman, "What?"

"I asked how old you are," she repeated.

"Nineteen," he replied simply, neither begging sympathy nor trying to sound grown-up. His own age had ceased to matter to him a long time ago.

"So you are an alchemist?"

"Yeah. I'm a dog of the military," Ed admitted wryly. Usually he wouldn't have told anyone. But it didn't exactly matter anymore; what were they gonna do to him? Shout at him? Hate him? A whole army would rather kill him than look at him. He could cope with whatever these people threw at him.

The man chuckled and looked amused, "A state alchemist? At nineteen? Pull the other one, lad."

Ed laughed too. Why he would lie about that? What exactly did he have to gain? "I've actually been one since I was twelve."

The boy's eyes suddenly opened as his head whipped round, scaring the hell out of Ed. "Y-you're the Fullmetal?" the boy stuttered, tear-filled eyes wide with shock.

Both the man and the woman gawked at Edward as if he'd just grown a halo and wings. He looked away from them towards the fires burning a few dozen yards away from them, his face darkening. Even if he was sitting right next to one of those blazing fires right then, he doubted he'd have felt the warmth past the sudden chill in his bones.

"He can save us," the boy said suddenly, gazing worshipfully at Edward. "He's the hero of the people; he can save us!"

"I can't, kid, I'm sorry," Ed sighed, his heart sinking at the look of disappointment on the kid's face. "We couldn't even stop these guys from overthrowing us. Besides…" Ed said, looking up around him. All eyes were on him. Hope was rekindled in their eyes. Why, oh why, did the sound of his name have to bring so much happiness, when all he could offer in return was disappointment?

"The hero of the people… is long dead."