(I finished this story last summer, and will be uploading new chapters whenever I have the time! There are no serious sexual themes, but there are things such as kissing, cuddling, etc.

Also there is a section where the technology doesn't correlate with the time period, sorry about that!)

Survive.

That was what you had to do.

It had been about four months since the undead soldiers had overrun Central. He couldn't confirm it, but Edward Elric was almost positive it had spread to every other section of Amestris. The once clean and extraordinary Central City now lay in ruin; buildings diminished to rubble, vines claiming the sides that remained of white buildings. Many still remained standing and erect, but their appearance gave a haunting and unwelcoming look, something that said, "Stay away."

He wasn't sure how many survivors there were. Hell, he didn't even know if there were any survivors. He hadn't seen another human being since that day. Four months, and three days, to be exact. Ed was eighteen now. At least he thought he was. Sometimes the time warped and he wasn't sure if it really had been four months and three days. It could've been four years.

The air was thick and dark, with remnants of desperate battle. The undead soldiers had won, of course. One bite to the neck and you were gone. More and more were appearing recently, but Ed didn't believe in something as silly as zombies. It was unscientific. He had, however assumed that they were massing together, becoming denser in the area he was located at, because they had found it more suitable to their needs, many dead corpses still lining the cobblestone streets.

He was located in Central Command. It was big and spacious, and had all of the militaristic weapons he could have ever asked for. Rarely did he ever come across one infiltrating, and when he did he made sure to make the death of the one quiet, to keep suspicion from arising. A few years back during the first encounter with the soldiers, he believed they truly were immortal, and that they could not die. However, he did come to the conclusion that if beheaded, the necessary parts of the body became disconnected, and essentially, useless. This was the only way to do it, Ed decided.

He didn't look the same. He had gotten taller, his features more prominent. In order to fight off the undead Ed was required to practice a routine, helping with his muscle strength and reflex time. His hair was longer, but he always kept it back into a ponytail. He was thinking about cutting it off completely – his hair made for a good thing to grab when undead soldiers were gaining on him. He'd been in situations that were too close all because of his hair. There were smudges of dirt and blood all over his hands, face, and legs when he didn't have the chance to shower, and he was beginning to grow a beard; something he really wanted to get rid of when he could find the time. His clothes were ripped, having to use parts of military uniform's he would find in storage to patch his original clothing up. His eyes were the main difference, however. They no longer shone brightly. They now resembled the eyes of a killer, the eyes of a survivor, and the eyes of a lonely human being.

Every day, he would go and grab new artillery from the barracks of Central. Then, he would recede into the kitchen, grabbing any kind of canned food or frozen meal that he could find, and ate his meal for the day. Next, he would return upstairs and into the former office of Colonel Mustang. He tried his best to always keep it neat and tidy, just like it would have been if it were still fully functioning, with his superior at his desk and scolding him for something he'd done wrong, with Fuery messing with the radio, Breda eating in the corner and talking to Havoc who was smoking and making jokes about the Colonel, Falman who would always actually do his work, and finally, the lieutenant, who always kept an eye out for Roy, no matter what. There were a few sheets of unfinished paperwork on Roy's desk, all neatly organized, with a pen on top of the first paper, and a lamp to the right, awaiting the return of its owner. The windows, however was something Ed couldn't fix. They were bloodied and dirty, smudges ranging from top to bottom, left to right. He'd gotten all the ones on the inside, but the outside was a different story. There was no way he could. There were small holes in the windows from bullets, which sometimes let rain in if it was windy.

The coffee stain was still there though. And Ed intended to keep it that way.

The only thing Ed couldn't get rid of on the inside were a few bloodstains – the most particular one being on the wall opposite of Ed's favorite couch. He remembered clearly what had caused the large smear of blood. One of the soldiers had managed to get in and find him. They had pinned him against the wall, and in his struggle, they ripped at his arm, tearing the flesh right off. Ed had then turned around quickly (his arm scraping up against the wall to create the smear) and kicked the creature off, quickly thrusting the handle of the rifle into its chest and swiped a hand blade across its head swiftly before losing consciousness.

He chuckled quietly. That one never did heal all the way. Ed was sitting in the chair in front of his former superior's desk. He glanced down at his left arm, smiling at the white bandages that covered his entire forearm. It wasn't a pretty sight to behold, so he kept it under bandages. He crossed his legs and propped them up on the desk, admiring his dusty boots. As sad as it was, he knew that Riza, Falman, Breda, and Fuery were never returning to their posts. During the beginning of the havoc he had been given the opportunity to step over each of their cold, pale bodies, lying pathetically in the streets. He knew for certain they had all died fighting. Each held a gun in their hand, battle scars painting their body. He wasn't sure about Havoc; he hadn't found him yet, and there was uncertainty with Roy also.

But he could hope, couldn't he?

Al was gone, so was Winry. Granny too. Some days he wondered if he was the only human left in Amestris, or hell, the world. He removed his dusty shoes from the desk and buffed it with his arm to make sure he left no marks, leaving the chair behind as he made his way to the gun on the couch. He loaded it and stuck it in his back holster. It was black, and leather, engraved with the letter's 'RM'. Luckily Roy always had an extra in the bottom left drawer of his desk. He was thankful that Roy had told him there was a loaded gun including a holster there, if there was ever an emergency. He took a switchblade and placed it in his pocket, and then a large hand blade, placing it in a makeshift knife holster he'd made out of some old military suits. The strap around his shoulder and chest was made from belts, and polished with alchemy. He then tied his hair back swiftly, and made his exit, closing the wooden door behind him softly.

It was time for his daily routine. He would walk around Central City, to locate any survivors or fugitive's that had managed to get away. His boots made a crunching sound as they made their way over small rocks and pebbles, his guess that they were once part of a building. 1st street was done. On to the next.

He made the mistake of coughing, instantly covering his mouth with his bandaged hands. He waited thirty seconds, before continuing cautiously. Nothing had come out. Halfway down the road however, a flash of white and red went across Ed's vision, and in the next second, he was on the ground. An undead soldier was pinning him, and aiming directly for his neck. He didn't think twice; he quickly slammed his head into the soldiers, buying him a split second. That was all he needed. He grabbed the knife from his holster and flipped the soldier over, so that it was on the ground instead, and Ed on top. Ed quickly raised his knife to slash, but midway felt a hot searing pain erupt in his back. He flashed his eyes back to see another, gripping onto Ed with its teeth, a high pitched growl coming from its mouth. He felt his breath hitch when it deepened its grip, and he yelled in pain, quickly bringing the knife down on the other so he could focus his attention on the soldier on his back. He whipped around quickly in an attempt to make the undead release its grip, but it remained sturdy. He screamed when the teeth ripped further in, and elbowed it hard in the face, taking skin with it when it released its hold. Ed whimpered and quickly went to grab his gun, whipping around. He shot it three times in the face, and then twice in the chest, the force toppling the soldier over so Ed could do his job. He slashed at the monster's throat, and with one last screech, fell limp.

Ed quickly climbed off the soldier and placed his gun back in his holster, his knife following. He collapsed next to the bleeding monster, and closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. It'd tore a muscle. He needed to get home now. With all of the strength he could bear, he staggered to his feet, and began to make his way home, his vision wavering in and out the further he walked.

Amazingly, he'd made it back to Central Command. He felt like collapsing on the floor, losing consciousness, sweeping him away to a world of no pain. But he knew that wasn't an option. He grabbed bandages from under the couch where he always kept them, and quickly went to work, wrapping it tightly so he wouldn't lose blood overnight. He then threw himself on the couch, and pulled the ragged blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Just go to sleep. That's all he needed to do. Deal with it in the morning. He let out a slow breath, and tried to count backwards from 100. 99…98…97..