Whenever God means to make a man great,

He always breaks him in pieces first.

-Charles Spurgeon

"Mr. Elric. Why am I not surprised to find you asleep in class?"

The professor in charge of teaching Advanced Chemistry was a 28 year veteran of the educational system, two years from retirement, and officially fed up with Edward Elric's behavior. He zeroed his dark eyes on the 16 year old, who was trying to blink himself back into consciousness before snapping up to attention when he realized his error.

"Sorry Professor!" He yelped with a knee-jerk salute, only to throw his hand back down a moment later when he realized the Advanced Chemistry professor at West Point was a civilian and not a military member, therefore didn't call for a salute.

"Do you honestly find my lecture so boring that you can't stay awake? Or is it that you just know so much about Chemical Biology already that you can afford yourself the luxury of not paying attention?"

"Neither, Professor." He said, trying to ignore the stares and snickers he was receiving from his fellow cadets.

"So enlighten us." The Professor added as he set closed his text book. "What exactly gives you the right to sleep in my class?"

"Nothing does, Sir. I'm sorry." Edward was trying valiantly to do what Roy and Riza had always advised. Stay calm, be respectful, and take responsibility. His Advanced Chem teacher was making it rather difficult. Professor Hoffstrom stroked his dark beard in contemplation before glaring at the teenager and replying,

"You know what? I'd actually like a response. Go ahead. Give me whatever excuse you've got this time, Elric." He challenged. Edward raked his hand through his shaggy blonde hair, unsure of what to do. In the past he'd always apologized, accepted his 2 hour punishment tour, and moved on. He never tried to give an excuse because Maes Hughes always said that excuses insinuate the idea that you've done nothing wrong therefore the other person isn't allowed to be angry, which only exaserbates their fury.

"…Well…to be honest, it's jet-lag Professor. I'm having trouble sleeping."

"You don't seem to have issues with your rem cycle during my class." Hoffstrom bit back.

"My sleep schedules all over the place. Again, I'm sorry." Ed felt the beginnings of irritation brewing in him, and took a breath to remain calm. He hadn't had an outburst since before his arrival at West Point 8 months prior, and had worked extremely hard with his therapist to control his temper. He had to prove that he could handle the immense responsibility he'd been given. Hoffstrom blinked at him curiously as the other students, all several years older than Edward, began rolling their eyes silently wishing they could just get on with the lecture.

"Humor me. Where exactly were you that would make you so "jet-lagged"?" Hoffstrom replied with exaggerated air quotes. Ed grimaced. He knew this was about to get much worse and a large part of him wanted to crawl under a rug.

"I was on assignment Professor. I was with a squadron from Central, we arrived back two days ago."

The 60 year-old curmudgeon's facade of interest slipped into a furrowed brow and an overall grim demeanor. He'd had it up to his eyeballs with the strange young cadet sent from Central. Always late, always sleeping in class, always giving people the cold shoulder. Hoffstrom and the other Professors had observed Edward and noticed that he had very few friends, hardly spoke to a soul really, and when he did his responses were short and to the point. He couldn't be bothered with other people, he preferred to be alone, he wasn't much of a team player. The military held teamwork extremely high, and to see someone unwilling to get with the program was unsavory, especially when that someone was only 16 attending a prestigious college with peers 2-5 years older than him. He didn't have to pass the personality test, his GPA history only went back 2 years, and rumor on the street was that he was exempt from the candidate fitness assesment for 'classified reasons', yet he'd been sent with a handwritten letter of recommendation from Secretary of Defense King Bradley himself. Who the hell was this punk anyway?

Hoffstrom set his book on his desk and made his way to Edward, motioning him to stand.

"Whats the Cadet Honor Code, Elric?"

"A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do." Edward recited flawlessly.

"That's correct. So tell me why any of us should tolerate the blatant lies you are telling this very moment?"

Soft murmurs were heard throughout the room and Edward nearly choked on his words in shock as his eyes went wide. Being accused of breaking the Honor Code at West Point was like being accused of witchcraft in the 1600s.

"It's not a lie!" Edward insisted, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he fought internally to remain calm. "I serve on an active unit in Central! Call Colonel Mustang if you don't believe me!"

"That's a load of garbage, Cadet! I received a notice that you've been 'extremely sick' for days and that's why you weren't present in class, but you seem right as rain now except for your incessant slumbering. First you lie about being on a mission which couldn't possibly be true because of your age, and NOW you're spewing deception about knowing Colonel Mustang personally?! You've got some nerve Elric! Just admit that instead of taking your position at this school seriously like your peers, you've been up all night engaging in the same reckless and inappropriate behavior that got you sent here in the first place!"

Ed glanced around at the scowling faces of the young men and women in the room who clearly thought he was no better than pond scum. The little ember of irritation in his chest began to grow as Hoffstrom's accusations fanned the flames. He could feel himself starting to unravel, and he was dangerously close to not caring. He kept away from people because he had no choice. He didn't let people into his life because they wouldn't understand. He was dangerous, and he had to keep himself hidden.

"I take this just as seriously as anyone else. I'm sorry that I keep falling asleep in class, I promise I'm doing what I can to fix it." He insisted through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

"I don't think you are. I think you're a lazy little liar and you can get out of my class."

"NO." Ed stood his ground firmly, knowing that he'd receive a swift tongue-lashing from Roy about it later but he wasn't concerned. Nobody called him lazy, or a liar. Nobody. "I'm not leaving. Don't call me a liar because I'm not lying, and don't accuse me of being lazy because I promise I'm the furthest thing from it!"

"Is this you yelling at me Cadet? Do you think this will save you from a hundred punishment hours? Or expulsion? You ungrateful little—"

WHAM! With one swift blow Edward brought his right arm down forcefully on the top of his desk in anger, effectively splintering it in half and rendering it a crumpled heap on the floor with seemingly little effort. The room was suspended in time, a sudden freeze-frame of shocked, gaping faces as Edward stepped to the Professor and grabbed his tie to yank him down to his 5"6 eye level.

"You wanna talk about ingrates? Look at yourself you bitter old fuck. Know why I'm sleeping in class all the time? Because I'm flying all over the goddamn globe protecting your freedom and I HAVE JET LAG. You were told I was sick because you're a civilian and you're not supposed to know all the ins and outs of what the military does. I know Colonel Mustang because he's my goddamn Commanding Officer, and I don't have time to even think about being lazy because I'm too busy serving as a State Alchemist!"

He released Hoffstrom from his grasp and stormed out, leaving the Professor as well as the other cadets completely horrorstruck at what he'd just revealed.

Roy Mustang sat at his desk and massaged his temples in a slow, steady fashion. He'd just received a voicemail from the Superintendent at West Point in regards to his youngest officer, and was preparing himself for the extremely stressful phone call he was about to endure. The line only rang once before it was answered by the secretary.

"This is Colonel Roy Mustang, calling for General Armstrong." He said. The secretary replied to hold and a moment later the voice of an authoritative woman came on the line.

*We have a very big problem. I'm about to come down there and strangle you for the drama you've caused.* She threatened.

"You knew the risks."

*He destroyed school property and threatened a Professor.*

"Threatened how?" Roy asked.

*He grabbed Professor Hoffstrom by his necktie.*

Roy Mustang gave a little smirk. He never liked Hoffstrom and had a feeling he probably deserved it.

"That's not really a threat. Ed was just getting his attention."

*Your mentally unstable soldier put his hands on a civilian teacher before revealing his controversial role with the military to a class of nearly 50 cadets. It's spreading like wildfire. The entire school's heard about his claims of being an Alchemist at only 16, and people are afraid Roy. I've got cadets telling me they don't want to be in class with him, I've got angry parents refusing to send tuition money until Ed's gone because he poses a threat.*

"He's not a threat to anyone." Roy said as he rose from his chair and paced the floor of this office. "If anything you should be glad to have him around. He's better security than most of the MPs you've got up there."

"He's a human weapon of mass destruction trapped inside the body of a mentally disturbed, hormonal teenager. He just proved that he's not ready to be a normal setting. He needs to go back to Central.*

Roy ran a hand through his messy black hair and breathed out. He felt bad for Ed, because he knew just how hard Ed had worked to concur his fury. Nowadays it was actually quite difficult to send him into a rage; he knew in his gut that if Hoffstrom elicited that sort of reaction from Edward, he must've been asking for it.

"He's been in normal settings. His reactions are defense mechanisms, and he poses no threat to anyone that doesn't pose a threat to him."

*Normally I'd agree with you, but the difference here is that while an average student would at worst throw a few punches, your little fostering experiment is a trained assassin with serious anger issues. He could kill someone if he really loses it.* Armstrong fought.

"He's never killed anyone that wasn't a government target." Roy semi-lied. It was true that Edward had yet to fail a mission, but when he was discovered in the lab in Helsinki his unfathomable fear combined with the deep-seeded defense response caused him to kill everyone in the building. He was 12 years old, terrified, and had no idea who he was or how he'd gotten there. He just reacted.

"You've got one of the top Chemical Biology courses in the nation," Roy pressed, "and Ed needs a course in Biology before we can start sending him on missions where he's needed. I can't just throw him into a country to start looking for their WMDs if he doesn't have a basic comprehension of chemical warfare. You know Ed's position in the military, what have you said to this Professor?"

*Right now I'm trying to keep him quiet so he doesn't go to the media. This is a nightmare Mustang. If this gets out I won't be able to protect Ed.*

Roy cast his dark gaze out over the buzzing activity of Central Head Quarters's main floor.

"Believe me, Edward doesn't need protecting."

*You know I don't mean physical protecting. If that boy is as troubled as you claim, he's going to need more help.*

"He's been working with one of the top psychologists in the country. The improvements he's made since we found him are nothing short of astounding."

*How so?* The stern Superintendant questioned.

"He was nothing but pure destruction. You have no idea what this kid's been through."

General Armstrong furrowed her brow in disgust and barked into the receiver.

*Maybe you should be blaming yourself for that! Putting a child in the State Alchemist program, how many targets has he eliminated since his start? What sort of horrors has that boy seen? God only knows what goes on in his head!*

"Thats not important, and I'm not referring to what he's been through for the military. I'm talking about the horrors he faced that brought him to us. He needs this life just as much as National Security needs him. My plan is to get him stable enough to employ full time in counter terrorism units."

Olivier Armstrong twirled a lock of blond hair around her fingertips for a moment as she thought, before shaking her head with a sigh.

*You know as well as I that I have borderline zero tolerance for you on a personal level, but I know you're a good soldier. If you say Edward isn't a threat I'm inclined to believe you, but tomorrow afternoon I have to address this matter to an auditorium full of angry, concerned cadets and faculty members. As the Superintendent of this school and a Three Star General I simply can't stand up there and claim that a 16 year old assassin is perfectly safe to have around. He has 48 hours to be gone. I'm sorry Roy.*

Edward sat on the tufted sofa in Dr. Marcoh's office and sulked. He was beyond furious upon being served his notice of expulsion from West Point, and spent the duration of the train ride back to Manhattan thinking up what he would say to Mustang. Roy beat him to it however, and met him at Penn Station with a stoic face, but a supportive clap on the shoulder.

"I'm really disapointed." Edward told Marcoh once he was back at Central Command. "I was doing really well for awhile. I didn't mean to freak out. It just kind of …happened."

Tim Marcoh looked up from the legal pad he was scrawling on and adjusted his glasses slightly.

"Well, it seems like it's always that way. You're fine for awhile, and then suddenly, boom. We need to find ways to stop the boom. How was the mission you went on recently? Let off some steam?"

Ed took a sip of water from his glass on the coffee table and nodded. "Yea it was alright. It's weird, the missions are so stressful in the moment, but when I'm finished I feel …accomplished. Almost proud of myself. Like I'm ready to shout from the rooftops and celebrate. What kind of person gets happy after taking a life?" He shook his head in self-disgust as his eyes fell. "I'm a monster. No wonder I don't belong anywhere."

Marcoh blinked at him in surprise and resumed his scrawling.

"Its been awhile since you've used that word to describe yourself. Have you felt this way the whole time?"

Ed nodded solemnly.

"I don't think anyone here believes you're a monster. Think about the improvements you've made in the last 4 years." Marcoh said.

"Well, I am one. I mean look at me." Edward replied, gesturing to his automail arm and leg. "I'm a weapon, Doc. I'm a straight-up lunatic. I can't function in average society because if I tried they'd lock me away. I can't be around normal people because I'm not …I'm not normal." The muscles in his throat tightened horribly under the strain of him forcing himself to not cry. He hated his life. He hated how hard it was for him to control his temper. He hated how Roy always had to convince people to 'give him a chance'. He hated the way Riza had to scold others for staring at him or whispering when they believed him out of earshot. He hated the way people walked on eggshells around him constantly because they were all afraid of him. He hated knowing that his life would never be anything but a constant struggle to find his place in the world.

A knock at the door paused Edward's melancholy thinking and he looked up to find Mustang cautiously entering the room.

"Colonel." Marcoh said in greeting, "Please come in. I'm glad you could take time out of your busy day to be a part of this session. Is that alright with you, Ed?"

Ed gulped a little nervously, it had been 3 years since Roy had sat in on his Psychiatry appointments. He nodded and Roy settled into an adjacent club chair, with fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he waited for them to continue. Tim Marcoh looked back at the morose teenager.

"Edward I'm sure the military doesn't make it a habit to waste anyone's time. I'd be willing to bet they don't practice wasting taxpayer's money on frivolous pipe-dreams either, and I can tell you for absolute certain," he said as he once again adjusted his spectacles on his nose, "that I would never waste my time on a patient I believed to be beyond helping. Its counter-intuitive to what I do; I'm a healer. I'm here to help those who can still be saved. I would not have so whole-heartedly invested the last 4 years of my life to someone I didn't think I could help. I saw greatness in you the first time we met, when you barely uttered a word to me. You've done incredible things in service to our country since then, and I know that even greater things are to come. You're right about not being normal, Ed. You're too extraordinary to be lost to simple obscurity. One day, you'll see that as a good thing."

Edward rolled his eyes and scoffed as he picked at loose lint on the couch.

"Fat chance. How could I ever learn to see all this as a good thing?" He asked.

"Well, I'd be willing to bet that one day you'll find a special someone who will see you the way we all do and will be able to make you see yourself for who you truly are." The doctor implied with a smile. Edward found this idea to be beyond absurd, and suddenly his anger was back. He stood from his spot on the couch and yelled,

"Who I truly am? Are you kidding me with that shit? How can you sit there and act like you all know me so damn well when I don't even know myself?! I have NO IDEA who I am! I don't know where I'm from, who my parents are, when I was born, I'm not even sure my name is actually Ed!" He shouted, looking back and forth between Marcoh and Roy, who he wished wasn't in the room. "You people seem to have me so fucking figured out yet you can't give me ANY answers about how this all happened. I'm sick of everyone telling me to have faith in the system, when the system hasn't figured out who ripped my limbs off my fucking body! You think someone is EVER gonna understand this? Nobody will want to spend their life with a mess like me. Don't patronize me Marcoh, I know I'm gonna spend my fucked up life alone so I might as well start now."

As he stormed out of Dr. Marcoh's office, Ed couldn't raise his eye level to meet Mustang's because he knew if he did he'd only find the same anger and disgust he emitted being mirrored right back at himself.

Mustang exited the elevator and walked onto the hardwood floors of Edward's living quarters on Central HQ's seventh floor. It became clear when Ed was 14 that living in the barracks wasn't a good idea for him, seeing how he was prone to sleep-walking and night terrors that made him unknowingly lash out at people. The seventh floor had an exclusive elevator line that ran only to the ground floor and back and required an access code for precautions; it used to serve as the Central Command Armory. The sprawling, 2400 square foot open space jutted out from the core of the building as a separated wing, and Roy saw it as the perfect space for Edward who needed his self-imposed isolation the way birds needed to fly; they might not want it 100 percent of the time, but it was a personal freedom and at times even a life-saver.

The level-headed Colonel heard the shower running in the bedroom, and used the opportunity to be only a little nosy as he keenly observed every surface around him. He made a mental note to look into hiring a house keeper due to the apartment's state of teenager-esque untidiness as he made his way past the cluttered kitchen island and poked his head into the disheveled bedroom. An unmade bed, clothes strewn about the floor, muddy boots left on the carpet carelessly -he made an addendum to his mental note to have the carpet ripped up in the bedroom. Roy's dark eyes scanned the mess and took in the empty pizza boxes, crushed up soda cans and various small weapons that he wasn't surprised to find since they were a part of Ed's job. What Roy was slightly more curious to discover were the issues of Playboy on the nightstand next to a clear zip-log baggie containing rolling papers and marijuana. As the shower turned off Roy rolled his eyes, and thought back to when he was a teenager. It wasn't much different. He stood calmly with hands behind his back as the bathroom door opened and Edward walked in with a towel around his waist and jumped a little.

"Tryina' catch a glimpse at me Mustang? Always thought you'd go for brunettes instead." He said. The young Colonel smirked and slid his gaze back at the buxom woman on the cover of the Playboy.

"I play on the other team, and I prefer blondes. You seem to enjoy blondes too Elric, among other distractions." Ed flushed pink when he realized what his Commanding Officer had found.

"Well maybe you wouldn't have seen those if you didn't show up here unannounced." He retorted as he disappeared into the walk-in closet to get dressed. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Ed was gone, Roy pocketed the bag of weed and quickly looked around for any other drug paraphernalia as Ed continued.

"One of these days you're gonna walk in to something you really don't like. I could've been naked in here. I could've been fucking someone." He said, reemerging from the closet in black sweats and a long sleeve tee. Roy grimaced at his crass comment.

"Quit talking like you're in your mid-twenties Ed, you're 16 years old and it makes you sound even less mature."

"I'm not a child!"

"Well you're not an adult either!" Roy barked, feeling his patience beginning to unravel. "You live like a pig, you keep getting kicked out of school, you can't control your temper and you resist anyone who tries to help you. You curse out your psychiatrist who's done nothing but pull you back from the brink, and the way you speak to me is license enough to demote you. This isn't the first time I've found illegal drugs in your possession, Ed. Military drug-testing is random and mandatory, if you get caught with anything in your system I won't be able to protect you."

Ed glowered at the dark-haired thirty-year old and folded his arms as he tried to push down the anger burning in his chest.

"You're not my father, Roy."

"That's right, I'm your goddamn Commanding Officer and I can tell you to go to hell and fend for yourself if I want to. You want people to respect you rather than fear you? You want to be treated like an adult? Fucking act like one, and not just while on assignment. Step up, one-hundred percent of the time, or leave and see how far you go in this world without our help."

Ed blanched, and moved out to the kitchen for a glass of water to quench the sudden sahara-like state of his mouth. Roy followed and slid himself onto a barstool at the kitchen island, brushing food crumbs aside so he could lean on forearms.

"Ed, I need to know that you take this seriously. You've been through things no one else could ever relate to, but you can't spend your whole life hiding behind the walls you've built around yourself. You'll go mad. You have to let people in, and you need to try to have faith in the system, because frankly its the only one we've got. Despite the hand you were dealt as a child, you've become a powerful person. They may have taken your limbs and your memories but you've been given physical and intellectual capabilities that surpass the average human. Your emotional and psychological states need to play catch-up if you ever hope to feel …normal."

The golden-eyed teen said nothing as he sat on the barstool across from the Colonel.

"Remember what I said when you were asked to leave Central?" Roy continued. "I told you normal is bullshit. I still believe that. I don't want you to worry about comparing your life to the lives of people who are nothing like you. Don't worry about what you don't have, or what you feel you're lacking in character. I want you to focus on being a good person, and a good soldier. Those are two things you already are, and you can only become better at if you keep in the right frame of mind."

Ed scratched at his shaggy damp hair in thought, catching Roy's attention.

"How long his it been since you had a haircut Fullmetal?"

"I've actually been thinking of just letting it grow long. It itches my neck and ears when its short, whats the rule on that sort of thing?" He asked, in reference to how the military had a rule for just about everything in life. Roy shrugged his shoulders.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with your work its not a problem, but don't look like you live under a bridge or anything. If you start looking like you live on the street I'll hack it off myself. Understood?" Ed nodded and stood to start clearing dishes from the island and put them in the sink as Roy said,

"You know that Marcoh wasn't mocking you right? You owe him an apology."

"Yea I know." The blonde muttered dejectedly. He still felt in his gut that his Psychiatrist's ideas of Ed finding love someday were beyond ridiculous, and as a teenager the thought had never even occurred to him. It pissed him off that it was now shoved to the forefront of his already cluttered mind.

"He wasn't patronizing you." Mustang continued. "If you want successful interaction with other people you need to ease them into the situation, and while you're at it, don't have sex with any more members of the military please." Roy's skin crawled from the extreme discomfort of talking to his subordinate about personal misconduct. It was bad enough the first time when Ed's limbs scared the daylights out of the girl he had sex with in the barracks resulting in his transfer to West Point to begin with. He didn't want to deal with it again.

"Don't worry, I learned my lesson." Ed grumbled as he remembered the horror struck look on her face, the way she couldn't look at him for days afterward and how indiscreet she was with her friends about what it was like to sleep with "a deformed robot". It was hard enough to make friends when you had to lie to them about who you really were, and as the whispers of his unusual appearance drifted through Central Academy it proved even more difficult to keep what few friends he'd made. People were afraid of him. It only worsened his self-loathing to see how much bullshit Roy and Riza each had to deal with once the secret of his automail was out, and it was suggested that he go to West Point for a fresh start. It had been a good idea in theory.

"I feel weird saying this," Roy said as he stood to leave, "considering that you've been forced to grow up very quickly, but you should find some outlets that are a bit more …age appropriate." He said with an awkward scratch on his head.

"That's a little hypocritical," Edward said with a smirk. "I heard you were only 15 your first time."

"Who told you that?!"

The blonde teenager flashed a chesire cat's grin. "Riza did."

"Lieutenant 'Hawkeye' Anira." Roy corrected.

"Thats not what you call her."

Ed was more than amused to find that even the ever-stoic Flame Alchemist was capable of blushing.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Roy said lamely, trying to feign casual ignorance.

"Uh huh, sure. I definitely haven't noticed the way you two look at each other, or how won't go anywhere without her. You've been very inconspicuous. Do something already."

Roy glared at the boy and turned to leave as he said,

"Keep those kinds of theories to yourself Fullmetal, unless you want me getting dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming of a soldier, and it would do you well to consider the ramifications of breaking code of conduct."

As the elevator opened and he stepped in, he turned back to face his subordinate.

"Do as I say, not as I do."

Edward watched the elevator doors close and breathed out heavily once alone again. Hiding behind sarcasm and his smart-ass antics was how he coped with uncomfortable situations, and he always preferred making jokes to having heavy conversations with Roy or Riza. It pissed him off a little that Roy hadn't officially made a move when it came to Riza. Edward valued Riza's good opinion immensely and saw her as a strange mix of an aunt meets an old friend crossed with a big sister. He looked up to her for the way she was so collected, he longed to be as in control of his emotions as she was of hers, and it was that unshakable composure of hers that told him while she would never expose her feelings for the Colonel out of propriety, her sheer self-control would have her standing by his side for the rest of her life, still waiting for him to love her.

It was bullshit. Anger bubbled in Edward's gut when he thought of his psychiatrist's absurd musings of a life of normalcy where someone could see him as a person. Someone could know about him and all his problems but not be afraid. Someone could …love him maybe. He soured more thinking about how those two idiots were obsessed with each other but wouldn't do anything about it even in secrecy because they were so worried about keeping their jobs. They were pushing away something that everyone craves, and he would never experience in his life. It was like royalty throwing away perfectly good food in front of the starving impoverished. He walked into the bedroom and entered the closet, digging his way through piles of clothes on the floor in search of something. It took a few minutes -every scrap of cloth was black because he'd learned that the care and keeping of mechanical prosthetics meant oil and grease all over your clothes. He finally uncovered his prize and sat back with a black box wrapped in an old sweater no one would look twice at. As he pulled the fabric away and lifted the box's lid, he silently thanked the universe that Mustang hadn't discovered his more precious distractions while he was still in the shower.

He poured a small amount onto the smooth lid of the box and used a hotel key card to push the white powder into a long line before rolling up a bill from his wallet and sniffing the substance up his nose.

"Do as I say, not as I do." He muttered, mocking the Colonel's words as he swiped at his nose and wondered how the hell he was gonna deal with being back at Central Academy on monday. Back to the points and the stares. Back to the teachers who thought he was receiving special treatment from Officers and the coaches who didn't want him competing in Academy sports because his unusual physical capabilities gave him an unfair advantage. He was an outcast. A loner. He would serve his purpose for the military and spend the rest of his time doing whatever the hell he wanted, because he didn't give a damn about the blowback on his own life. His life was a pretty miserable one, and any signs of improvement were bleak at best.

He punctuated that thought by pressing his flesh pinky finger into the tiny bits of leftover powder and rubbing it into his gums.

A/N: This chapter serves to show small snippets of Ed's life before he meets Winry, and there will be a few of these dusted here and there as I randomly go through key moments in Perfect Blood and tell them from Ed's point of view, as well as some moments that might've taken place while Ed was being a hermit in the guest bedroom, what he was up to while Winry was sleeping, etc.. "Dark Ed" (as a reader refers to him -which I love) is way too complex and interesting to be left without filling in the blanks. I've filled in a lot of those blanks in my mind and I'm excited to start sharing them with you all. I'm going to attempt to write the A Brief History chapters of Illuminate in 3rd person, which I'm not accustomed to doing so I hope it translates well. Thanks for reading and reviewing, I'll be writing more and be back soon.

Sidetone: For those who've PM'd me asking about Ed and Win's wedding, it's coming but its going to take a lot of work. You guys didn't think I'd just let them have a nice, drama-free day did you? *Wink*