Important A/N: Hello! I'm writing this note well after the fact - this fic has been complete for well over a year now. The reason I'm writing this is because, after looking at parts of the fic, there are a few things I've found grammatically and scene-wise that I would like to change, though it would be nothing that would change the overall plot of the fic. I feel that I've grown as a writer since writing this fic and I want to rewrite some parts to reflect that. I'm going to try and post all of the edits at once, but I figured I would let you all know in case you return and see that changes have been made. It will be a while until I'm able to get around to do so though, but I figured I would make you all aware. This note will reflect those changes once they're all made. If you're reading through now, though, I hope you enjoy!

A word of caution: This story does contain violent themes, such as torture and graphic description, as well as some profanity (hence, the T rating). Before each chapter, I will note what some of the themes are in case you are squeamish.

So, without further ado; Pressure Point.

Pressure point (n): a weak point on the human body; a person's weakness that can be used against them in order to cause harm.

Thump thump… thump thump…

Riza Hawkeye knew she was dying.

Thump thump… thump thump…

For the past hour she could feel her pulse becoming weaker, the time between beats becoming increasingly drawn out. The only thing binding her to this world was the agonizing pain she felt radiating throughout her entire body.

Thump thump… thump thump…

She gripped the fresh wound at her side, taking a sharp breath as she did. This only caused more pain to rip through her. At that point, however, stimulating the wound was the one thing that kept her breathing. Riza had quickly discovered that the oxygen her body had once craved suddenly seemed more like a burden than a necessity. She would have stopped breathing a long time ago if she could, but her body still had an infinitesimal need for air.

She exhaled slowly.

Thump thump… thump… thump…

Her whole body trembled. She could feel the heat leaving her body, the only source of any warmth being the sticky, crimson blood that poured from her wound. It hurt. Her whole body hurt. It hurt to breath. It hurt just existing…

She found herself becoming increasingly irritated at her body's determination to live. Hadn't she suffered enough? Why was her body subjecting itself to more pain by continuing to function? Riza had accepted that there was no one coming to find her. There would be no rescue. Any and all hope of one had died as the weeks and months dragged on. She wondered if the military had abandoned its efforts in finding her, if there were any to begin with. Quickly shoving that thought aside, she decided that, at least at one point, there had been an effort. They- or rather, he- had probably turned the entire Ishvalan town they were stationed at upside-down in his efforts. Roy Mustang never gave up on anyone.

Thump… thump…

The thought of her superior officer made Riza's heart ache. She hoped that he wouldn't grieve. He didn't have time to weep over her. He needed to complete his goal of restoring Ishval and bringing peace. He had to keep his eyes fixated on his dream of becoming the Fuhrer.

Riza felt hot tears stinging her eyes. She hated herself. She hated that she couldn't be there any longer to protect him. Hated that she wouldn't be there to see him accomplish his dream. And most importantly, Riza hated that she would never see him or hear his voice again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks. Taking a quick, ragged breath, she allowed her muscles to relax. It suddenly felt as if a heavy weight were placed on her chest. The once agonizing pain that radiated throughout her had become dull.

Riza knew her time was up.

Exhaling, she succumbed to the darkness.

Thump…

Edward Elric sat motionlessly, eyes fixed on the weapon in his lap. Funny, he thought to himself, it seems so harmless now… However, he knew the devastating consequences once the trigger has been pulled. Why had they given it to him in the first place? They knew his thoughts about guns. Did they honestly expect him to pull the trigger? Even though he had lost his alchemical abilities, he was still able to hold his own in a fight.

Unless…

He slowly raised his eyes to look at the man sitting in front of him. Even though the desert caravan rattled along as they drove, Roy Mustang seemed to remain still, unswaying. As if he was made of stone. His elbows were firmly planted on his knees, fingers woven together. The Brigadier General had his forehead rested upon them, lost in thought. Raven-colored hair cast shadows on his face, hiding his eyes.

Had he been able to peer into those eyes, Edward knew what he would see. Exhaustion. Resentment. Wrath… For the past three long, grueling months, he had watched that rage slowly build up and spill over into the superior officer's eyes. The transformation was terrifying to watch.

The boy turned his gaze downward and shuddered. His eyes once again were fixated on the gun. Unless… he's not looking for a fight.

He had seen what Mustang was capable of on the Promised Day. Seen what he was able to do with his powerful flame alchemy. But they… she… had been there to talk him down. To guide him back to the correct path once more. Now that she was gone, there wasn't a force strong enough to oppose or even stop him.

Edward clenched his jaw and tightened his fists. No… this was the best lead they've had. This had to be it… This had to guide them to her!

He slowly relaxed his hands and tried to breathe. His stomach knotted up as a wave of dread washed over him. If it hadn't been for me, we wouldn't be in this mess right now. If I had just followed those stupid, simple orders, then maybe-

"Elric!"

His eyes immediately snapped upward, caught off-guard by the sudden interruption of his thoughts. His eyes were met with those he had grown to fear – eyes filled with despair and rage. After only a few moments, the blonde lowered his gaze then slowly peered up submissively. How long has he been calling my name?

"Are you listening," the Flame Alchemist snarled, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.

Edward slowly nodded.

"Good. Because I will not be repeating myself." Before he went on, Roy Mustang turned his gaze, meeting the eyes of each person in their company. Besides the usual Mustang team members, three additional men had accompanied them. Edward noticed that his eyes simply slid over them, barely acknowledging them. Finally, his eyes again found themselves on the young former alchemist. "This mission is a simple one. We are to search for and rescue one Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

"Should you come across anyone you may think may be involved; you are not to kill them. We need them alive for further interrogation and possible motive." His eyes again scanned their faces. "I will lead. Should we need to split up, you are to travel in pairs. No one, and I mean no one, will be allowed to search on their own." Again, his glare landed on Edward, dark eyes boring into his golden ones. "Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir," the group of men cried out in unison.

Tearing his piercing stare away from Edward, Mustang turned to the front of the vehicle. "Fuery," he barked. "How much further?"

The younger, black-haired man squeaked and quickly adjusted his glasses. "According to the map, sir, we are approximately three kilometers from the edge of Turlorn."

Edward furrowed his brow. He had heard of the small Ishvalan town before. After the military invaded and decimated it and its citizens, they had temporarily set up an encampment there. However, once the military had advanced further into Ishvalan land, they essentially abandoned the small town, going as far, it would appear, to completely remove its existence from any and all maps. And that, Edward knew, was the reason why it had taken them nearly twelve weeks to get there.

"Hey, Boss; look alive. We're just about there." Edward glanced up to see that first Lieutenant Havoc, who was sandwiched in the front seat between Second Lieutenant Falman and First Sergeant Fuery, had turned around and was watching his superior intently, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Squinting past the blonde officer, Edward could just barely make out a set of ruins outlined by the setting orange sun. So that's Turlorn… He could see why the military had forgotten about this particular town. From what he could see, it now only consisted of one, large building with a couple scattered around it. Shouldn't be too hard to navigate.

Again, Edward was jolted out of his thoughts when he was launched forward and out of his seat. The vehicle had come to a sudden and complete stop behind a large hill of sand. He looked up, realizing that he had fallen into the lap of Brigadier General Mustang. Scrambling, he threw himself off of his superior's lap and onto the floor as the group of men milled around him and out of the vehicle. After a few moments, only those two remained. Edward quickly cast his gaze downward, his face burning red with embarrassment.

Normally, Mustang would take the opportunity to shoot a snarky comment toward the boy, which Edward would then counter with an insult about the General's intelligence or ego. For a split second, Edward hoped that somewhere, deep down, the Mustang that he loved to hate and hated to love was still there. Instead, to Edward's crushing disappointment, the superior officer only stood and shoved his way past the former alchemist. Dazed and surprisingly hurt, Edward quickly grabbed his gun and pocketed it, clambered to his feet, and jumped out of the vehicle, finding himself next to Lieutenant Havoc.

The blonde lieutenant turned and flashed a small, but sincere, smile down at the boy. "Ready, Chief?"

Edward forced a smile. "Yeah…" he replied as he cast his gaze toward Mustang.

Before the Flame Alchemist could open his mouth to address them, he was interrupted by a gasp that originated above and behind him. Edward craned his head back to see the silhouette of a person atop the sandy hill they had positioned themselves behind. "Hey!" Before he realized what he was doing, Edward pushed past the other officers and raced up the dune toward the figure. Startled by the boy's sudden actions, the dark figure bolted down the other side. As Edward reached the top, he heard a loud bang, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He looked down the sand dune, eyes slowly widening with horror. The figure he was chasing was lying motionless on his back, blood spilling out from a self-inflicted wound to the head. Edward tried to move his legs, but found that he couldn't. "Damn it," he cried out. Move… move! He couldn't do it; his emotions and body had betrayed him.

He felt a sudden rush of air as Mustang and two additional soldiers sprinted past him. Edward could only watch as Mustang kneeled next to the fallen man, pressing his fingers to his neck. Edward could tell by his eyes, though, that Mustang already knew he was dead. He watched as Mustang clenched his hand into a fist and punched the ground, crying out in anger.

"Damn…" Edward turned at the sudden voice, realizing that Lieutenant Breda was standing next to him. The heavyset man scowled as the remaining men dashed past them.

Edward looked away, scrunching his face in disgust. "We were supposed to bring them back alive, right?"

"Not only that," Breda began, "but now I doubt we'll find any of 'em."

"Why's that?" Edward again turned his focus to Mustang. The Flame Alchemist was still on his knees, fist firmly planted in the sand. His raven-black hair shielding his eyes from view. The very sight of the General in that state of mind caused Edward's stomach to lurch.

"He shot himself so we couldn't get any information out of 'im. That gunshot signaled to the others that we're here." Breda glared as Mustang got to his feet and began racing toward the largest, central building. "We'd better find something," he murmured as he made his way past Edward and down the steep, sandy dune.

Edward gulped, trying desperately to calm his feelings of dread before dashing after them.

The small platoon quickly reorganized themselves outside the largest building: the former military command center. After waiting a few additional moments for everyone to collect themselves, Mustang began to speak. "After what we've just witnessed, you know that they could very well be long gone. However," he gazed at each and every one of them, "do not let your guard down and remain with your partner. Unless you come across something, you are to report back here in exactly one hour. If you happen to find something, you are to light the flare issued to each of you."

Edward shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes cast downward, again feeling the General's cold stare. He would probably want to watch him, tote him along to make sure he didn't mess up again. He hated being babysat by the older man…

Instead, much to the former alchemist's surprise, Mustang turned to the other blonde-haired member of their small caravan. "Havoc, you're with me."

"Right, boss." The Lieutenant obediently moved and stood at his superior's side.

Turning to the rest of the team, Mustang barked, "Everyone else, pair up and move," turning the end of the sentence into a command. The soldiers frantically divided into pairs before heading off in separate directions.

"C'mon kid, you're with me," Lieutenant Breda brushed past Edward, making his way toward the eastern side of the command center. Edward obeyed, falling into step next to the soldier.

As they reached the door, Edward cast one last look over his shoulder. He watched as Mustang and Havoc disappeared around the corner of the building. After watching the spot for a few more moments, Edward turned away and shoved his hands in his back into pockets, feeling the grip of the gun.

Once they were inside, Edward realized just how right Breda had been. They had walked into the building's massive dining hall, which, Edward noted, was littered with trash, shell-casings, and overturned chairs. It appeared as if whoever had been there had just left. Lanterns and torches lined the walls, casting large, ominous shadows across the room. The walls themselves were chipped and cracked, having lost their last layer of paint years ago. Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning slightly, Edward realized that it was a large, red stain splattered across the wall. He squinted. "Is that…"

Edward took a step forward, only to hear a loud crunch. Both he and Breda jumped at the sound. Raising his foot, Edward revealed a crumbled up aluminum can.

"Keep your eyes peeled for a set of stairs," Breda noted, recovering from the sound. "Since this command center was erected in Ishval during the war, I bet there's a sub-level." The soldier kicked some of the litter aside and began making his way down the closest hallway.

Edward knew exactly what for. During the Ishvalan Extermination Campaign, thousands upon thousands of Ishvalan citizens were murdered, arrested, or experimented on. Once he caught up with the Lieutenant, he narrowed his golden eyes, "They needed a place to keep their prisoners, right?"

"Yeah…" Breda trailed off, quickening his pace.

The pair turned another corner, finding themselves at the top of a narrow, winding staircase. "Bingo…" Breda muttered. Their noses crinkled at the smell of the cool, musty air that leaked from it. Finally…

Without wasting any time, Edward suddenly took off down the stairs, much to the dismay of his partner. He heard a cry from behind him, but he didn't slow down. They had found it, so why pause and admire it?

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, Edward began to sprint faster. After running a few meters, he caught glimpses of small, barred rooms to either side of him. His eyes scanned them as he raced past. All of them were empty, or, at least, devoid of what they were looking for. He saw glimpses of aged, cracking skeletal remains in some of them. He felt nauseated at the very thought of the war. Probably the remains of Ishvalans they left here to die and rot after this place was abandoned.

His thoughts were interrupted for the third time that evening when he skidded to a stop in front of a cement wall. He turned his head back and forth frantically, until he realized that the hall continued to his right. This hallway, however, contained only a singular lantern that hung loosely next to a fortified, steel door. He raced over to it and cursed. The door was locked with an enormous, steel padlock. Looking around, Edward couldn't find a key, brick, or stone he could use. Without a second thought, he ripped the boot of his automail leg off and began to smash his heel into it. His joints moaned and creaked under the strain, but he didn't care.

Finally the lock gave. Edward ripped it off and pulled on the door. It was surprisingly heavy, but that didn't stop him from flinging it open. A small amount of light from the lantern behind him rushed into and flooded the unbearably small area.

His heart stopped.

There, curled up in front of him, was Riza Hawkeye.