A/N: So, here it is at looooong last, the final chapter. When I finally finished, my happy dance was both boisterous and embarrassing. Ok, maybe not "boisterous". It's after 2am already, and I've only had 30 minutes sleep today, so boisterous may require a little more enthusiasm than I can muster on such short notice. The ending isn't great, but I tried to tie up all the loose ends I could. Whatever hasn't been addressed here, will most likely be addressed in the sequel (which I've already got a jump start on). However, I'm in the process of moving pretty far from my current location, so it may be after Christmas before I can start seriously working on it. Just keep an eye out. If there's anything you'd like to see in the sequel, let me know and I'll see what I can do. (Also, there's another little note at the end - it's not really relevant, but worth a laugh all the same.)

For all those who followed, favorited, kudoed, commented, and otherwise showed their love for this story, I love you all and thanks for sticking it out to the end. Hopefully, the sequel is even better. Thanks, warm fuzzies, and smooches! (^_^)

Same disclaimer applies, I don't own FMA or any of the characters therein. Would be nice *sigh* but still not mine anymore than they were in the last chapter.

Chapter 18

Last Coffin Nail

While the cops were storming the labs, Ed and his accomplices dispersed to their homes to lay low and pretend they hadn't just engaged in Breaking and Entering, Assault, and Vandalism – not to mention utilizing what could easily be classified as a weapon of mass destructions. They had done their part, and now they could only wait to hear word that Hohenheim was safe and sound.

In the meantime, Ed and Al called Maes to join them and got to work looking for the people Ouroboros was using as leverage against the scientists. Every time they'd find one, they'd send a text to Grumman so the hostages could be collected and moved to the safe house. Roy and Breda helped as much as they could, which in Breda's case was quite a bit. The overweight physics student had always been good at getting information and making sense of data.

Ed also called Detective Murry and informed him of the hostages, letting the detective know that they were being moved temporarily to a safe house. The detective promised to send people to pick up the hostages once they were done sorting out the lab. The rest would have to be up to fate – and to the second phase of Ed's plan. Ed still hadn't told anybody what he planned to do next, playing his cards close enough to the vest that not even Maes could loosen the boy's grip.

They received the long-awaited phone call from the detectives just after midnight. Roy loaded Ed and Al into his car, since they didn't want their super spy van anywhere near the police department – or any government agency, for that matter. Ed wasn't pleased about riding in the car, but he endured it with a minimum of complaint. And, lucky for him, they weren't far from the police station.

When they arrived, they were directed by a tired receptionist to the third floor. As they exited the elevator they were met by a jittery young detective who said that he knew right away who they were there to pick up by Ed's resemblance. This, naturally, made Ed grind his teeth, but he kept his peace and let the jittery guy lead them to the conference room where Hohenheim was waiting amidst a gaggle of bewildered and exhausted scientists. Seeing his sons, Hohenheim rose from his seat and he and Al rushed to embrace one another. The man reached for his oldest son too only to have Ed dodge away. "Touch me and you'll pull back a bloody stump, old man," growled Ed, ducking behind Roy. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"All right, love," said Roy, understanding Ed's discomfort. Just because he'd initiated the rescue of his father didn't mean he was any closer to forgiving the man for his abandonment. He'd made it clear from the start that the only reason he'd saved Hohenheim was for Al's sake. "Sir, you may stay in my guest room for the night. We can figure out what to do about living arrangements later."

"Thank you, young man," said Hohenheim simply. There was apparently some paperwork to fill out before Hohenheim could leave under his own recognizance, and while he worked through that, Ed stepped aside to speak with Detective Roach. He handed off a couple flash drives to the detective, which the older man seemed to be grateful for. Ed threw an impudent salute at the detective then returned to Roy's side.

Once outside, Hohenheim paused beside the car and turned to Roy. "We haven't been introduced," he said politely. "As you know, I'm Van Hohenheim, the boys' father. Alphonse tells me that you're working on your doctoral thesis in the field of physics."

"Thermodynamics, to be specific," replied Roy, grasping the man's proffered hand. "Roy Mustang."

"I understand you've been a good friend to the boys through all of the recent troubles," said Hohenheim, his expression mildly curious, but his eyes just as intense as Ed's ever were. "Though, I've also been told that you haven't known each other for very long."

With his usual fluid grace and complete lack of tact, Ed moved to stand between Roy and Hohenheim. "He's my boyfriend . . . wait, is 'boyfriend' still a thing?" Ed cast a slightly nervous and perplexed look toward Roy.

Roy flashed him a grin. "Even if it isn't, it can be a thing for us. Everybody else can go hang."

"Right, cool," mumbled Ed, blushing even as his eyes sparkled with an obvious flush of happiness. Then he returned his gaze to his father who was watching him with a look of consternation. Ed's expression turned icy again. "What? Did you forget my rather emphatic assertion that I bat for the other team? Anyway, Al and I have been staying with him, so that's where we're headed."

"Ed, don't be a jerk," Al admonished him, opening the back door and shoving Ed into the car.

"You little shit," protested Ed, not at all happy to be back in the car again. Al got into the backseat beside his brother. "That was dirty pool, even for you little brother."

"Sorry, Brother, but you'll be a lot less grumpy if we get you home so you can finally sleep," said Al in his defense. "You've done enough damage for one day, and you're less of a jerk when you're fed and rested."

"Says who?" snorted Ed.

The silence in the car stretched into the realm of definite discomfort as they drove back to Roy's house. A more awkward meeting with a lover's parent, Roy couldn't imagine. "So, Ed, what's next on the agenda?" asked Al, breaking the silence with the blissful sound of words. God love you, Alphonse.

"Next, we go back to Roy's and crash. In the morning, the next phase will begin," replied Ed, his voice quiet and shaky. He was still not at all happy to be in a car, but he was coping as best he could.

"I can't believe that you did something as reckless as breaking into a secret laboratory guarded by armed mercenaries and owned by a cutthroat corporation," said Hohenheim in a subtly admonishing tone.

"Hey, it got results. You're free now thanks to that. You don't get to complain, old man," Ed spat back. "And it wasn't reckless. It was carefully planned and executed jackass. We worked our asses off to make that operation happen, and the rest of my plan was no less of a pain in my ass. So, I think the words you're looking for are, 'thank you'."

"You are right about that at least, Edward. I do owe you my gratitude," said Hohenheim, all at once subdued. "But whether you like it or not, I am your father. I'm allowed to worry when my oldest son engages in dangerous activities that could cost him his life."

"Only if they got in a head shot, and I'm too fast for that," muttered Ed. "Seriously, can we stop talking? I'm starting to feel like I'm gonna hurl. For real."

"We're almost home, Ed," said Roy soothingly. "We'll get you some crackers before bed to settle your stomach. Do you want me to make you some tea?"

"We still got honey?" asked Ed pitifully.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we do," replied Roy, smiling to himself.

"Then . . . yes, please," said Ed, and Roy's smile grew. It was taking a while to get Ed to let Roy pamper him like he wanted to, but they were making progress.

When they reached Roy's house, Roy made some tea to calm everybody's nerves and brought crackers for Ed. They were all way too tired for conversation or courtesies, so after the tea, Roy got everybody settled comfortably then all but carried Ed up to bed. Really, Ed was probably the most exhausted of all of them, and so far he'd been the least able to rest. Hopefully, tonight they could remedy that. Ed needed to rest soon or he'd burn out.

The next morning brought with it a few surprises. On the cover of nearly every newspaper and gossip rag was the story of how Ouroboros was conducting illegal testing of weapons and cruel medical experiments. The stories also told of how time and time again, the company got away with their misdeeds and were never brought to justice thanks to their strong-arm tactics and illicit paramilitary operations. On the internet, dozens of news websites, including CNN's site, featured the story, some in excruciating detail and with full-color pictures to support the accusations. Ouroboros hadn't just been outed, they'd been crucified. When Roy and Al confronted Ed about it, he just smiled.

"Before we can convict them in a court of law, we first have to convict them in the court of public opinion," began Ed, sipping his coffee contentedly. He looked like a spider watching as the fly he'd caught died. "You should check out the stock market too. Their stocks are plummeting. This is going to hurt their credibility so bad it'll be crying for its mommy. The people they had previously relied on to help them sweep shit under the rug are going to scatter like fucking cockroaches. Hell, they've already started to. Most of the people they deal with are rats, and rats know better than to stay on a sinking ship. So, when the police bring down the hammer, there won't be a damn thing they can do to fight it. But this is just the tip of the iceberg. I've still got one final nail to put in their coffin. After that we can finally send Handsy Grabbenheimer to prison so he can meet his new wife Bubba. I'm sure they'll be very happy together."

"I wish them all the best," said Roy, in a bit of a daze as he contemplated the sheer scope of what Ed had accomplished – what they had all helped him accomplish. "Remind me to never ever piss you off."

Ed just laughed, got up, and headed off to finish getting ready to go, leaving a kiss on Roy's cheek as he walked by. "By the way, Roy, I'm gonna need a favor later if you're free," called Ed from the staircase.

"Sure," called back Roy, shaking his head to free himself of his shock.

"So let me ask you this then," began Al as Ed returned to the kitchen with his bag in one hand and his shoes and socks in the other. "What did you rig the PCCM for?"

"That's part of the final act," replied Ed, carefully pulling a sock on over his automail foot then adding another – he called the second one his "safety sock" since one sock alone tended to end up holey like Easter Sunday.

"PCCM?" asked Hohenheim as he sat down with his own cup of coffee.

"The PCCM is the power conservation and conversion module," explained Al, giving his brother a hard glare. "As you may or may not know, automail is entirely powered by the human body – or, more accurately, by the electrical currents passed along your nervous system. However, the human body doesn't actually generate enough electricity to power something as big and heavy as a metal limb, not without vastly overtaxing the central nervous system, along with the brain, heart, and lungs. Not to mention the fact that the body only produces one type of electrical current, while the automail requires both alternating current and direct current. The PCCM gathers and stores these electrical currents and converts them to energy that can be used to power the mechanisms within the automail. If the PCCM malfunctions, one of three things will happen. One: the automail quits working – and that's the best case scenario. Two: the automail draws too much power, thereby overtaxing the body and sending the wearer into cardiac arrest. Three: a power surge could pass in either direction from the PCCM and essentially burn out the entire central nervous system. Generally, larger limbs – like legs or entire arms, as opposed to partial arms – will have more than one PCCM, with one of them handling incoming current and others providing stability and even distribution of power flow throughout the limb. Ed's automail was a unique design from the start. Its design was part of his Master's thesis. So the type of PCCM used in his limbs is constructed in an entirely new way, from the layout of the circuits to the calibration of the power input/output conduits. His design made it possible to use thinner wiring in the limbs and less of it, as well as making the PCCM itself smaller. This made it ultimately possible to create limbs that are comparable in size to natural limbs without sacrificing mobility, strength, or durability."

"Wouldn't it make more sense then to simply construct the limbs out of lighter weight materials so that extra power is no longer required?" asked Hohenheim logically.

"That's something that biomechanical engineers have been struggling with for years with no positive results as yet," said Ed soberly. "Some materials can't handle the heat produced by the mechanisms, others can't provide sufficient protection for the wiring, and some just can't handle the force of the hydraulics. Fiberglass works well enough for kids, for whom the weight of metal limbs has been proven to have a significant effect on their growth rate – not a word out of any of you smartasses. But the fiberglass was too light for full-grown adults who complained of a sense of disassociation, a feeling as if they still had no limb to use, which led to disorientation and an inability to make full and proper use of the limb. Since full and proper use is the goal, it was decided that fiberglass wasn't appropriate for use on most adults. Some still prefer it, such as athletes, elderly, and people living in especially cold regions like Alaska and Russia, but there's not enough demand to make mass production a viable option. So, since we couldn't replace the metal, we tried instead to develop alloys which would be lighter weight yet still retain metal's inherent durability. We've also been trying to increase resistance to radical elements such as rust, oxidation, and calcium corrosion – the last one being a big problem for people living in coastal regions. We also wanted to create a metal alloy that could be machined down as thin as humanly possible and still not shatter. My current arm and leg are the culmination of our hard work – the first of their kind. Significantly lighter than previous models, and molded to be almost the same size and shape as the original limbs."

Ed rolled up his sleeve and removed the outer casing from his forearm to expose the wiring. He used the pen from his pocket to then carefully move some of the wiring to show the corner of a tiny box located near the elbow through which several thinner wires had been run. "This is one of my PCCM's and the first of its kind, made to distribute power more evenly in less time. The human brain has over 800 billion neurons, of which only about 1% are firing at any given point in time – so 80 million. Each neuron produces about one nanoamp, and put together those little bastards produce approximately 0.085 Watts. Now, people think, 'wow, that's a lot of power', and that's true in theory. The problem is that all that power has places to go, things to do. It's got to keep the rest of the body and brain running like it should, so although it seems like quite a bit of electricity there's actually only a small percentage dedicated to the moving of limbs and fine manipulators. The tricky part about automail is power efficiency, factoring in the weight of the materials it's constructed from, percentage of available wattage, and the rate of the flow of power from the central nervous system to the artificial limb. We've done all we can with current technology to make the materials lighter, so it's better to concentrate on power efficiency – sort of like the automail version of going green or whatever. You know, reduce the amount of necessary power and the drain on the body's natural resources without reducing functionality."

"And am I to assume that you have done something to alter the PCCM inside of a set of new automail limbs you intend to install on your own body in spite of the inherent risk involved?" asked Hohenheim, one eyebrow lifted in a very Ed-like expression.

"Yes. He's messed with the calibration and added additional storage within the module," said Al with a heavy sigh. "Theoretically, it will draw in the same amount of power from the body, but the delay between input and output is longer. Normally, the delay is like letting out one breath for every three breaths you draw in. Now, it's like letting out one really long breath for every six. In other words, the delay is necessary so the module can store enough power to make a difference after which it releases it in measured bursts as needed, and with a longer delay it'll be able to release more power than usual per burst."

"And what is the additional power being used for?" asked Hohenheim, leveling a stern glare on his oldest son who was tying his boots, thoroughly unconcerned.

"He won't say," said Al, sounding frustrated. "And what he's doing is so, so dangerous. If his calculations of the power requirements are off by even the most infinitesimal margin, he could be seriously hurt – or worse."

"Hey, give me some credit here," protested Ed at last. "Anyway, we're doing the installation tonight. That's the favor I needed Roy. I'm not going to be good for much after the installation, so I'm gonna need your help. And I wanted to do it upstairs so I don't have to try to find a way to get me up the stairs afterward. I don't think I'm going to be in the mood to sleep on the couch after it's done, so upstairs is the only option."

"Of course, Ed, not a problem," said Roy, though he wasn't entirely happy about the possibility that the limbs he'd be having installed could hurt him.

Later, "not entirely happy" became "really not pleased at all". Roy had thought that installing one limb was rough on Ed, but this was so much worse. It was like comparing a pleasant stroll in the park to a rollercoaster ride through the worst parts of hell. Ed kept his teeth clamped shut, but that couldn't entirely keep his scream at bay, and that scream went on and on until everyone in the room was shaking and choking back tears. Finally, Ed passed out from the pain, and Al buried his head in his shaken father's shoulder. The man was unable to take his eyes off of his oldest son, as if he had never really seen him before and was frightened of the new creature he'd discovered in his son's place. "Is it always like that?" asked Hohenheim, his voice steady but soft and husky with emotion.

"Every damn time," growled Al. "And there's nothing I can do to help him through it. It hurts him so bad, and it's all my fault. If he hadn't been protecting me . . ."

"Hush now, Alphonse, you know your brother wouldn't want you to blame yourself. He took this burden on willingly to protect what matters most to him. The best thing you can do for him is honor his sacrifice by making the most of the life he bought you," Hohenheim told his youngest son gently.

Roy simply hoisted Edward into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. The younger man groaned as he was lifted but otherwise didn't stir. Once Roy had him tucked in bed, he returned to the library and the subdued men waiting there. Winry was packing away her equipment, just as subdued as the men were. None of them were happy, each for their own reasons. All they could do was wait for Ed to wake and explain to them why it was all worth it, what this terrible price was paying for.

Ed didn't wake until the next day, and he was as stoically cheerful as he usually was, never letting them know he was in pain, being strong for all of them. Roy's friends all came by in twos and threes to visit Ed. They were Ed's friends now too after all, and they wanted to help him feel better sooner if they could. They brought him pastries and good coffee, and Breda brought them take-out from the steak restaurant that was owned by Ed's friend. Roy stayed by Ed's side the whole time and catered to his every need – as much as Ed would allow him to, anyway. At one point, Ed's teacher instincts took over, and he forced Roy to bring their books into the bedroom so they could study for their semester finals – something neither of them had really had much time to do. It was kind of nice, though – studying together – so Roy didn't really mind too much.

The next day Ed was not only on his feet, but attending and teaching his classes. He warned Roy he might be home late because he had an important appointment. Roy shrugged this off until Detective Roach showed up at the campus and told Roy that there was trouble. Roy didn't even really have to ask why Roach was tagging in Roy. He was already 100% sure that Ed had to be involved somehow. Trouble and Ed weren't just friends, they were synonymous. If the detective was reaching out to Roy, it was because of Ed.

When Roy climbed into the back of Roach's car, he found Al already waiting there. The detective got into the driver's side and turned in his seat to look over his shoulder at his bewildered passengers. "All right, look, this is how it is," he began, the man looking harried and unhappy. "The warrants for our current operation haven't come through yet. They'll be here soon, but not soon enough to get surveillance set up. Ed can't reschedule his appointment with Mr. Bradley. If he doesn't do this now we could lose this chance altogether. He has to go through with it, but I don't want to send him in without back-up. So Ed's offered this alternative. We can't take surveillance equipment without those warrants, but he says he can uplink his camera and mic to what he said was your 'control tower' or whatever. He said you two would be able to run the thing and record everything. I'll be with you guys to make this all 'official', but I'll also have men ready to go full breach the second things start to go south. Warrants or no warrants, we won't leave the kid swinging in the wind after everything he's done for us. Damn I wish I could get that kid on the force. We'd have a crime free city in a week."

"I don't know about that," said Al, his mouth drawn down in a stern line. "Brother is a one man crime spree all on his own. He'd only end up being the last criminal standing."

"But, putting that aside, I take it we're in something of a rush. What time is this appointment of Ed's?" asked Roy, not caring about anything but keeping Ed safe. They could yell at Ed about his impetuousness later.

"We have less than an hour," replied Roach.

"Then we need to get over to the garage to pick up the van so we can be in place and ready to go when the time comes," said Roy, trying to stay as smooth and cool on the surface as possible so he could bury his rising panic. "Am I to take it that this Mr. Bradley is highly placed in Ouroboros?"

"It's his company," replied Roach, already pulling out of the parking lot. "He's the current CEO. His grandfather founded the company. Where are we going anyway?" Al quickly gave him the name and address of Mason's body shop, and they started hauling ass in that direction.

"Why couldn't Ed come and tell us himself?" asked Al.

"Two reasons," said Roach, pausing to cuss at a little old lady driving a beat up old Caddy at the speed of an arthritic snail. "One: He said he has to finish up preparations, though what in the hell he has planned is anybody's guess. Two: Because when I mentioned riding with me, he looked like he was going to hurl. I didn't want him hurling in my car like he did in Murry's. I don't think that smell is coming out anytime soon."

"Yeah, Brother's not a fan of riding in cars," said Al, suddenly sheepish on his brother's behalf. "If it helps, we have a cleaner we developed that's great for getting rid of that smell."

"Thanks, man, I'm sure old Murry will be grateful – when he gets over being pissed," said Roach with a laugh.

When they arrived at the body shop, Al greeted Mason as they walked in. Mason led them back into a fenced-in parking lot behind the shop where cars were kept while in the limbo between defunct and good-as-new. The van was nestled among the despoiled vehicles, hidden in plain sight. When they got into the van, Roach had to spend a few minutes on the requisite oohing and awing over the marvels of their James Bond-esque vehicle. "And you're sure Ed's not like NSA or some kind of escaped science experiment right?"

"I can't be 100% sure he's not a science experiment, since he was born first, but genetically speaking, there does seem to be a natural predisposition to higher than average IQs," Al told him mildly, his smile so sweet butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "As for Ed's apparent spy equipment streak, he recently marathoned all seven seasons of Burn Notice and all five seasons of Person of Interest on Netflix. So, you can once again blame modern media for the corruption of the innocent. You should have seen what he built when he was into Doctor Who. I was starting to worry I'd wake up one day to find a blue police box in our living room."

"I wouldn't put it past him," snickered Roy.

"Detective, I will leave the driving to you while we get the computers up and running," said Al, as he and Roy took over the little stools in the back. Al pulled his belt from around his waist and used it to secure himself to the stool, Roy following his example, glad for Al's quick thinking. They wouldn't be able to hang onto the overhead handles since their hands would be busy typing, so they needed some way to stay in their seats while the van was in motion.

It took them about thirty minutes to reach the city's financial district, and Roach parked the van then pointed out their target. The building in question was tall as a New York skyscraper, its outer shell built of reflective black-tinted glass. The large sign attached to the front of the building didn't proclaim the name of the company, only the logo, but the symbology of the logo made the name obvious. The logo was a circle formed by a winged red serpent eating its own tail. As dark and eerie as the building was, they may as well have put up a neon sign that said "Bad Guys Work Here".

Roach's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and put it to his ear. After terse greetings, Roach made a comical expression of distaste then sighed and set his phone down on the work table, putting it on speaker. "Yo, how's life in the belly of Vanzilla?" said Ed, and Al sighed and hung his head. "Look, I know you guys are probably plenty pissed at me, but we don't have time for the Riot Act reading right now. You can chew me out later. For now, I need to walk you guys through setting up the uplink to my mic and camera."

"And how exactly are you planning to smuggle a mic and camera into the building?" asked Al peevishly. "I'm sure they have security, and I'm also sure that their security will have been briefed on your capabilities. They're going to be fully expecting you to start trouble."

"But that's why your arm and leg are now rigged for greater power output," said Roy as the answer dawned on him. "You've got the surveillance equipment installed into your automail somehow."

"Yep, Sexy gets a gold star," said Ed, laughing.

"Well, it's exactly the kind of sneaky, underhanded shit you excel at, love," returned Roy.

"I'ma take that as a compliment," snorted Ed. "But look, you have to remember, these guys are weapons manufacturers. They've got security measures on their security measures. Even just getting in the door, I've gotta go through two metal detectors, ease past the receptionist, lay some bullshit down for the three security guards in the lobby and two by the elevators and still stay under the radar of the two guys they got watching the security monitors. On top of that the security desk in the lobby checks everything you bring in with you, and they run it through one of those x-ray conveyor belt things you see airport security using. If I try to sneak this shit in any other way, we'll be boned, end of story. Don't worry, I have this all planned out. All I need you guys to do is get that uplink started and record everything. You won't be able to see what's going on until after I get through the metal detectors because the camera will be covered up, and the uplink may cut out for a couple seconds. I'll be wearing my hoodie when I go in, but after security does its thing, I'll take the hoodie off and tie around my waist like it's just too much hassle to put back on. After that, you'll have full audio and visual. But, regardless, record everything from the second I pass through those doors."

"Got it, Brother," said Al simply.

"Thanks," said Ed with a sigh that sounded relieved. "It's just about time, so let me walk you through this uplink . . ."

Ten minutes later, they had a full view of the inside of Ed's sweater and could hear his muffled voice greeting someone – a receptionist probably. They started recording at that point, figuring he had entered the building. Their suspicion was confirmed when they heard him tell the person he'd greeted that he had an appointment with Mr. Bradly. He gave the person his name, and a moment later they heard a woman's voice speak as if to someone else, announcing Ed's arrival. In the next moment she told Ed, "Just head through security, and you'll see a bank of elevators. You'll go to the top floor and the receptionist there will show you where to go."

"Thanks miss. You have a good day," he said to her politely. Ed next went through security, made obvious by the heavily sarcastic comments Ed made as the guards started fussing about his automail. Ed then threw a snit about the Disabled Rights Act and all sorts of other things that reeked of impending lawsuits, and before long they could start to hear how shaken the security guards were. Roy swore then that he would never underestimate Ed's acting ability again. Finally, Ed took off his hoodie, just like he'd said he would then he emptied out his pockets into a little basket. The view was from the camera was at just about shoulder height, and it wasn't the most stable in the world, but it moved a lot less than it would if the camera had been further down his arm. The security guards, all of which looked either annoyed or mortified, gave Ed back his pocket change and keys but insisted on confiscating his cell phone, giving him a claim ticket instead and telling him he could pick it up on his way out. "Fine, whatevs," said Ed, his tone managing to sound both mildly annoyed and noncommittal. And the Oscar goes to . . .

"The picture quality isn't great but the audio quality is outstanding," commented Roach.

"Probably because high quality microphones require a lot less power than high quality cameras," theorized Al. "What I want to know is how is how is he maintaining the uplink without his phone?"

"Are you kidding? That ancient piece of crap never would have handled a link like this," snorted Roy, a little surprised that Al didn't realize that. "How much you want to bet he's got something rigged either elsewhere in the arm or in his leg?"

"Good point," said Al, thinking. "After all, he did recalibrate the arm and the leg. There's no telling with Ed. But after this mess, I'm forbidding him from watching anything spy-related for a very long time."

"Amen," agreed Roy.

On the top floor, Ed encountered another receptionist, and this one was nothing less than drop dead gorgeous. She had long, thick dark brown hair that fell in soft waves around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a strange shade of reddish brown, almost the color of a good chianti, set into pale olive skin as smooth as fine silk. Her shirt wasn't necessarily low-cut, but her cleavage was still painfully obvious. Her full lips were painted a virulent red and cocked into a smile of smug confidence, as if she knew she was beautiful and that she could wield her beauty like a weapon – and did so, gladly. She clearly expected Ed to drool all over her. When they saw her smile slip, the Vanzilla audience figured it was because Ed had no interest in her . . . assets whatsoever. If she thought she could distract Edward Elric with big boobs and a smile, she was sorely mistaken.

Slightly flustered – and not hiding it as well as she thought she was – the receptionist guided Ed to an office with a frosted glass wall facing the hallway and frosted glass door cut into that wall that opened and closed soundlessly. The receptionist held the door open and gestured like Vanna White for Ed to enter then walked out again, letting the door close behind her. The office was minimalist and yet gave the impression of power and wealth with its glass and brushed metal furnishings, picture windows, and enormous presidential chair sitting behind the desk. There were no personal touches except for a single family photo sitting on the desk, the figures in the photo looking entirely too contrived, too artistically primped and posed, to be real – the woman in her designer dress with her perfectly coiffed hair and the little boy in his perfectly pressed suit with the precise red bow-tie. The man in the photo was the same man sitting behind the desk. At first glance he looked unassuming, even with the eyepatch covering one of his eyes. His mustache was thick but neatly trimmed, his eyes and mouth bracketed by laugh-lines, and at his temples was the beginnings of blossoming streaks of gray through his dark hair. But even with such a seemingly amiable expression on his face, there was just something about the man that all but screamed predator – and a hungry and cunning one at that. The engraved silver plaque on his desk read, "Mr. K. Bradley".

"So, you're the Big Bad, huh?" said Ed, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "You already know who I am, obviously, or you wouldn't have been able to send your goons after me. So, let's skip the 'pretending to be polite' and 'pissing contest' phases of the conversation. The problem with pissing contests is that somebody always ends up with wet shoes. Yours are probably expensive, and I don't have any other pairs, so I figure it's better if we not go there. Agreed?"

"My goodness, you're just as amusing as I had been told," said Bradley, his laugh sounding warm and yet, somehow, so very cold – a warm layer of cotton concealing razor blades and broken glass. "Am I correct in assuming that you requested this meeting for a reason?"

"You tell me," snorted Ed. "You're the one that's been doing all the underhanded shit like sending pricks to rough up me, my brother, and my boyfriend, not to mention trashing my lab, stealing my research, and kidnapping my useless father."

"I have a feeling that you've been up to some fairly devious activities yourself, Mr. Elric," said Bradley, smiling so blandly that they could have been discussing the weather. "Or should I say Mr. Hohenheim? After all, you are the eldest son of the great Van Hohenheim, aren't you? I imagine it's a legacy a scientist such as yourself would be proud to claim."

"The name is Elric," growled Ed, nonplussed. "As far as I'm concerned I'm the product of immaculate conception because I will never claim anything from that man – not his name, not his legacy, absolutely nothing. So if you're looking to con me into taking over his research, you're barking up the wrong tree. I want nothing to do with anything that bastard touched."

"I'm a father myself, so it saddens me to hear that," said Bradley with obvious disappointment. "If I'm not mistaken, I have you to thank for our recent troubles with the media. I also believe that you may have been behind our pest problem in one of our more clandestine research facilities."

"Now, the media thing is all on me – and I have to say, it's some of my best work," said Ed, his stance shifting slightly as if he had put his hands on his hips and stuck his chest out. At the very least they could hear the grin in his voice. "All I had to do was give them the evidence that got thrown out of court thanks to your bribery and bullying."

"Mr. Elric, tell me, what is it that you hoped to accomplish with this juvenile stunt of yours?" asked Bradley, his smile not even twitching, his tone still so friendly while at the same time so very threatening. Needless to say, Ed was not fooled by the façade, nor was he thrown by the contrast between his tone and mocking words. At least, as far as they could tell he wasn't thrown. It was hard to gauge since they couldn't see his face, but the camera didn't move so much as a millimeter and Ed's breathing remained even, his stance relaxed. Roy figured everything must still be within Ed's expectations.

"You can only rule by fear for so long before people rise up and decide that they're tired of being afraid. Every evil dictator has had to learn this lesson, and now you will too," said Ed, expressing not a hint of fear or remorse. "You may have arranged it so that the court can't do shit to you, and, sure, you could maybe get a dozen or so news organizations retract the stories. But, let's face it, the damage is done. On top of that, I contacted enough newspapers, magazines, and websites worldwide that there's no chance in hell of getting to all of them to kill the story. There ain't shit you can do. Maybe now you'll finally understand who exactly you've been fucking with."

"Are you just here to brag about your prank, young man, or are you actually here for a reason?" asked Bradley, his expression becoming serious as some of his composure slipped.

"I want my god damn research back and compensation for the proprietary invention that you destroyed," demanded Ed angrily. "You took my drug to human trials long before it was ready, and you infected people with lethal fucking diseases – ruined their fucking lives! – just to test a drug that obviously wasn't even ready yet. And by using my research as an excuse to hurt these people, you've made me complicit in your depravity!"

"All great men understand that sacrifice is necessary in order to achieve anything of merit," said Bradley as if speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. Roy didn't have to see Ed to know that he was grinding his teeth. "So, judging by your confrontational tone and angry demeanor, it's a safe bet that you will not be retracting your little media blitz or recanting on your testimony to the police. However, I have discovered over the years that everybody has a price. For some men, it's money – simple enough to obtain, and easier still to negotiate. For other men, it's power – because, as we all know, with power comes freedom and all men crave freedom. True freedom is the ability to do as we please without consequence, and I can provide that for them as needed, and within reason of course. And how wonderful would it be to conduct any research you want? No worrying about budget approvals or FDA or federal regulations or any of the other inconveniences that hinder a brilliant mind and keep it from achieving its true potential. And, really, Edward, just think of everything you could do if you were completely unfettered by the laws of the land or the rules of society." The intensity of Bradley's gaze as he eased his way into offering Ed a devil's bargain, silver-tongued as the first serpent. "Come now, Edward, save the self-righteous posturing for the lecture halls. There is no way you will be able to convince me that you don't long to stretch your legs and show the world what you can really do, to push your mind to its very limits and beyond. You can't tell me that you haven't begun to suffer from the greatest affliction of all true geniuses – absolute boredom. For a mind like yours there is truly nothing new under the sun, and at first there is so much to discover and always something new to learn. But then as you hit wall after wall, you find that there is only so much room to move, the world having found ways to hem you in on all sides until, like cattle in its pen, you find that you have already explored every inch of the ground they've limited you to. Which would you rather do Edward? Run free as far as your legs can carry you, or rot with the other sheep in the pen."

"Baaaah," said Ed, monotone.

"I see," said Bradley, as if Ed's attitude was merely a minor inconvenience. "Then I believe you are of the third type. You are the type of man who cannot be bought with money and power. They can't be tempted by the carrot so they must be urged by the stick, in a manner of speaking. So, tell me Edward, how is that little brother of yours doing? Alphonse, wasn't it? I hear he's now attending medical school. You must be very proud of his progress and the nobility of his goals."

"I don't appreciate hearing my brother's name coming out of the mouth of a skeevy old man with a sheep fetish and a receding hairline," growled Ed, taking a slow step forward, the camera angle changing in such a way that they could tell Ed was standing straighter.

To everyone's surprise, Bradley laughed heartily at the comment – though, like his smile, there was still that barely perceptible undercurrent of threat. Bradley's laughter died down to quiet chuckles as he put his hands on his desk, one hand reaching out to press one of the buttons on what looked like an intercom or small switchboard – it was hard to tell from the current angle of the camera. "Well, if you don't want us becoming better acquainted with your brother, it would truly be in everyone's best interests if you simply cooperated," said Bradley, sounding as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world, as if he wasn't subtly threatening Ed's family. "And think of those poor innocent souls now under a threat of terrible disease that can easily be saved if you complete your research as quickly as possible. With our help, you can easily manage that before the degeneration becomes irreversible. And all I'm asking in exchange for our help in saving those that your research has damned is that you help us with our own projects. It's a fair exchange all things considered. Please, Mr. Elric, make the logical choice. I don't want to have to get . . . insistent."

"What the hell does that mean? What are you going to do to me if I say no?" asked Ed, fearless as ever. Roy didn't know whether he wanted to kiss Ed or hit him upside the back of the head. Ed's boldness was what made him such a bright beacon to those around him. However, that same boldness also showed a stunning lack of self-preservation that was a guaranteed ticket to an early grave – and in this situation, that grave was getting there earlier and earlier.

"Let's just say I have friends that are most anxious to reunite with you, Mr. Elric," said Bradley like he was trying to talk Ed into coming to his family's barbecue. "I believe they had quite a bit of fun during your first playdate, and when I told them they'd get to have another chance to play, they became very excited." They heard a door open behind Ed, and Ed hastily spun so that his back was no longer pointing toward the door, though he didn't turn his back on Bradley either. Only a fool would turn his back on such an obvious predator.

The figures that entered the office were easily recognizable from the lab invasion. "Palm Tree Head! Goliath! Pervy Grin!" exclaimed Ed, recognizing them at the same time that Roy did. Al recognized them too, having helped Ed review the recordings from the lab invasion. Roy, Al, and Ed had called up the whole gang to watch the recordings, the group treating it like a movie night, even to the point of making popcorn. It had been fun at the time, but now Roy wished he had paid closer attention to the stats and fighting specs of the three guys – though Palm Tree Head's gender was still in debate, so "guys" was a relative term.

"Aw, did you miss me Pipsqueak?" asked Palm Tree Head, even his voice sounding somewhat androgynous.

"What did you call me?!" snarled Ed.

"Now, now children, this is no time to bicker," admonished Bradley lightly.

"Can we kill him? Please tell me we can kill him," Palm Tree Head all but begged.

"I don't know. I might have a few uses for him that just wouldn't be as much fun if he was dead," said Pervy Grin, looking Ed up and down with avaricious delight. The camera shook as Ed shivered.

"I knew you were a creepy pervert the second I saw you," declared Ed dryly.

"I'm bored. Are we really just gonna stand around all day? 'Cause if that's the how it is I'm going back to bed," demanded Goliath, his words slow and something in his voice making him sound like he wasn't terribly bright.

"Why don't you three make Mr. Elric more comfortable? After that, I need you to persuade him to see the benefits of working for us," said Bradley suggestively. "You may do anything you like. Just try to avoid damaging his head, and make sure you don't kill him."

"Fuck it! We're out of time!" declared Roach, and suddenly he was jumping out of the van shouting orders into his phone as he ran toward the Ouroboros building. Roy and Al didn't want to take their eyes off of the video feed, for fear that something would happen to Ed while they weren't looking, but they also both felt the desperate need to run to Ed's rescue. Murry solved the debate for them by poking his head into the van before they could jump out.

"You two, stay here," he commanded them firmly. He handed them each a set of headphones with an attached microphone and small, clip-on radios. "Keep an eye on what's going on and notify us of any changes. If they bolt or if they've got re-enforcements coming, we need to know immediately."

"Fine," capitulated Al grudgingly. "But, Murry," he continued, and the detective stopped and turned back around. "You better bring my brother back in one piece."

"Will do, kid," promised Murry, his tone insolent but his eyes sincere.

Unfortunately, the monitors showed them nothing useful except that Ed was still fighting and moving, which they took as a good sign. The problem was that the movement made it impossible to get a clear picture for longer than a few seconds at a time, and they couldn't exactly ask Ed to stand still so they could see what the hell was going on. So, Roy and Al had to think outside of the box. Roy turned the audio way up and started working on picking out background noise and snippets of directives and insults, mentally sifting through it all for clues about Ed's status and what might be going on in the room. Al was taking the all too brief snippets of stillness, such as when Ed paused to assess his opponent or catch his breath, using one of the other monitors to slow each snippet down, cutting still frames from the scenes and trying to clean up the images to pick out details.

It was thanks to their diligent efforts that they were able to warn the police as soon as Bradley was tipped off to their presence, sending his guards to deal with the threat while his employees tried to head for the hills. Then suddenly there was a scream from Ed and the picture went wonky then cut out altogether, as did the audio. "Shit! His arm broke! Shit, shit shit!" exclaimed Al, and Al never cussed, so when he did, it was usually a pretty good indicator that the situation was serious – like "Oh God, Oh God, we're all going to die!" serious. "Damn it! You guys need to get up there now!" Al shouted at the cops. "We've lost all communications with Ed!"

"We're a little busy right now!" shouted back Roach and they could hear the sounds of fighting.

"Shit!" hissed Al, and without further warning he all but flung himself out of the van. Roy didn't even have to think about it before hurrying after the younger man.

When they reached the lobby of the building they found the flustered receptionist still behind the main desk with four security guards sitting on the floor leaning on the wall, their hands zip-tied together and an armed police officer watching them. "Who are you?" demanded the police officer.

"None of your damn business!" snapped Al. "You morons promised my brother would be safe. You can't keep your promise, I damn well won't keep mine. I'm going to save my brother, and there's nothing your Barney Fief ass can do to stop me."

"Woof," muttered Roy, taken aback but also horribly amused. Al was starting to sound more than a little like Ed.

They both ignored the police officer who couldn't actually leave his post to stop them before they were already long gone. They took the elevator up to the top floor and, having learned their lesson from the lab invasion, plastered themselves against the walls when the doors opened. When nothing happened, they crept cautiously out of the elevator. The sexy receptionist stood at the end of the hall, long thin knives in either hand. "Now, now, I'm sure we can come to an equitable arrangement that doesn't involve violence," said Roy, putting on his best coaxing smile as Al surreptitiously reached for something behind his back. Roy inched forward, making sure the woman's attention remained on him so that Al would have time to do whatever it was he intended to do. There was a faint snick sound, and suddenly something long and black flew from Al's hand and hit the woman squarely in the head, knocking her out. "That was easier than I anticipated. What was that anyway?"

"A retractable baton," answered Al with a shrug as he approached the downed woman cautiously. He crouched low and stretched out to retrieve the baton without getting any closer to the woman than he absolutely had to. His caution proved to be entirely called for, because no sooner had he closed his fingers around the baton's handle than the woman lunged towards him with the one knife she still held. Luckily, Roy was close enough to knock her out with a well-placed fist to her temple. He may not be the fighting machine that Ed and Al were, but he could hold his own when push came to shove. "Well then, first a riot gun and now a text book right cross. What other surprises do you have up your sleeve, Mr. Mustang?" asked Al, mischief glinting in his eyes. Roy smirked and threw up a peace sign.

"I'm all about love and peace," said Roy with false cheer, and Al laughed. "You can't be the foster kid of the infamous Madame Christmas and not learn a few things along the way. Now, since knife-fighting wasn't one of Aunt Chris's many lessons, let's see if there's something else around here I can use as a weapon." What they actually found, discreetly hidden in the back of a drawer of the receptionist's desk, was a small .22 caliber handgun with a very feminine pink mother-of-pearl inset on the grip. Why the woman had opted to try her luck with knives instead of just pulling the gun on them, Roy would never know – but he suspected it was because of how wimpy the gun looked. Nobody was going to be intimidated by a tiny pink pistol that looked like a Happy Meal toy. "Jeez, this thing's so girly, I feel like I need the right shoes and matching handbag just to carry this thing," said Roy, rolling his eyes. "It's the drag show version of assault with a deadly weapon. Let's get this over with before my testicles completely shrivel up."

"You know, of course, that Ed is never going to let you live this down, right?" said Al, giggling as they crept up to the door they had seen Ed go through earlier. They moved to stand on either side of the door, and with gestures, nods, and head shakes they determined that Roy would go in first since he had a gun and didn't want to accidentally shoot Al in the back – and Al didn't particularly want to accidentally be shot in the back. Al held up one hand and counted down from three, and when the final finger disappeared the two of them burst through the door into the office. Everyone in the room froze for a moment, all of them assessing the new situation and figuring out what to do next. Bradley was lounging in his chair with his feet on his desk as if watching the greatest entertainment. Pervy Grin was holding onto Ed's messily detached automail arm as if not quite sure what to do with it. Palm Tree Head was caught mid-laughter. Ed was dangling by one ankle from one of Goliath's meaty hands. All five of them stared at the intruders, just as shocked and confused – what with Roy standing there trying not to look quite so gay despite the super-girly handgun he was holding, and Al poised with the baton held over his head but his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my God, you sexy bastard! Your timing couldn't be any fucking better!" shouted Ed, breaking the tableau. Roy didn't waste another second, taking aim with the faA~bulous little gun and shooting out Goliath's kneecaps. It was better that than wait around to find out what the giant planned yank off of Ed next. Needless to say, the not-so-wooly mammoth dropped Ed who twisted adroitly in the air, just narrowly managing to turn in time to not land on his head. Instead he landed on the mangled wires and bits of metal hanging out of his shoulder port, causing him to cry out unexpectedly. Roy figured that some of those wire were probably still connected to Ed's nerve pathways, meaning that they were little better than exposed nerve endings. Even thinking about how much that had to hurt made him cringe inwardly.

Ed, however, didn't let it slow him for more than second, after which he flipped up onto his feet. In the next instant, he struck out at the screaming giant with a lightning-fast kick to the head, but still, just like in the labs, the mountain wouldn't go down. That's when Pervy Grin held Ed's arm out to him, which Ed accepted with a grin. He grabbed his arm – wait, what? – he grabbed the automail arm by the wrist then swung it like a cudgel, finally knocking out the behemoth.

"It's a home run! And the crowd goes wild!" said Pervy Grin then he actually shared a thumbs up with Ed before jerking his head toward the CEO who was trying to escape during the confusion. Roy swung the gun around to aim at the man, who froze in place at the heavy sound of a round being chambered. That's when Ed suddenly chucked his arm . . . the arm at him, hitting Bradley in the head and sending him to join his gigantic minion in unconsciousness. "I knew throwing my lot in with you would be a good move. Now, let's see about the mouthy midget over there."

"Oh, Al's already got that one in the bag," said Ed with a dismissive shrug. And sure enough, he did. Palm Tree Head had still been injured from the lab invasion, and Ed had clearly worked him over a bit before they got there, so it didn't take Al very long to lay him out. "Um, Roy, is that a firearm or a fashion statement?"

"Can't it be both?" asked Pervy Grin, and Ed howled with laughter.

"I hate you so much right now," said Roy, trying very hard not to pout.

"Aw, don't be like that. You guys pick on me all the time. It's only fair I get to return the favor," said Ed, sticking his tongue out.

"So, Ed's appalling sense of humor aside, what made you decide to change sides?" Al asked Pervy Grin, his eyes narrowing with obvious distrust.

"Come on Al, didn't you read the data?" asked Ed, snickering. "Yeah, Reed was always gonna be my trump card. He was never on the old bastard's side to begin with. He was being blackmailed just like the scientists – that and he got paid a fuck-ton of money. I couldn't offer him money, but I could promise safety for his peeps and a chance to pull the rug out from under the smarmy old jackass and punch Archer in the face. He even punched him one extra one just for me. If I wasn't already spoken for, I might actually be flattered by the gesture."

"Well, my offer still stands. If you ever wanna ditch the pretty boy and take a walk on the wild side, I'll gladly give you the grand tour," offered Pervy Grin – who apparently had a real name. Who knew?

"No thanks, I like pretty boys, please and thank you," said Ed primly, then he waggled his eyebrows with a suggestive smirk. "And we do wild just fine without the help."

"Oh God! I do not need to hear this!" cried Al, covering his ears. "Ugh! Hasn't anybody ever told you it's mean to traumatize your baby brother? I think it's sexual harassment. I'll sue."

"Yeah, you'll pay the lawyer with what to get what money?" snorted Ed, and Al had to concede the point. "Besides, I already pay for your college, your apartment, your car, your clothes, and your food. What more could you possibly get out of me that I haven't already given you freely?"

"I could take your coffee machine," said Al sweetly.

"Alphonse, you're dead to me," said Ed darkly.

"So, what happens now?" asked Perv . . .er, Reed. "I mean, you promised you'd save my buddies, and I'm cool with that, but how are you planning on going about this little miracle?"

"Well, for starters, you're going to have to talk to the cops," said Ed with a sigh. "They owe me, so I'll make sure you get full immunity, but if we want to make sure the people we care about are safe, we have to be willing to step up to take Ouroboros down for good."

"I don't know, Ed," said Reed doubtfully. "I've done a lot of bad shit in Ouroboros's name. Are you sure bringing that shit to light is a good idea? I mean, if I gotta do some time, I get it. I ain't a saint, and I'll do whatever I gotta do to keep my people safe. They don't deserve to go through half the shit they have thanks to hooking up with these bastards. It's my responsibility to make this right, but once you go back to your normal everyday life, what kind of guarantee do I have that we'll come out of this all right on the other side? I don't have your insane IQ. The bigger picture is a little harder to see for the worker ants on the ground."

"Look, Reed, even if you can't see where you're going, as long as you're moving forward, you're never headed in the wrong direction," said Ed, that determined glint in his eyes again. "You don't have to be the smartest guy in the room to make smart decisions. You don't have to be a saint to do the right thing. You don't have to be the Devil incarnate to do something cruel. We all have the ability to be totally brilliant. Conversely, we also have the ability to royally screw up. But, you know, best of all, we also have the ability to fix what we fuck up. We can't turn back time and erase the bad choices, but righting wrongs is never about reversing mistakes. It's about accepting the consequences and facing whatever happens next. Face forward. Accept the truth. Never waver."

"Thanks man," said Reed with a lopsided smile.

"It's what I do," said Ed with a shrug.

When the police finally made their way into the room, it was to find Ed and Al sitting on the giant like he was a piece of furniture. Roy was keeping eyes on the douche bag CEO, and Reed was making sure that Palm Tree Head didn't move an inch. Goliath they'd had to knock out again, which was why the boys were sitting on him. Palm Tree Head they'd tied up using various power cords and phone chords they'd found around the room. The police tried to do their job and secure the room, but since everything was already under control, they could really only make the next logical move and slap cuffs on the unconscious criminals in their midst. Ambulances were called, Winry was notified that Ed needed the immediate repair work, and criminals were hauled off to face justice. One of the EMT's tried to get Ed to go with them to the hospital – he was covered in bruises and had blood oozing from a spot on his temple and staining the corner of his mouth – but Ed sent the man packing with a number of emphatic curse words for his troubles. Before leaving, Ed made sure to speak with Roach and Murry, demanding immunity for Reed in exchange for the former minion's testimony and in honor of his cooperation, and the detectives promised they'd talk to the DA quick, fast, and in a hurry. There wasn't much they wouldn't do to make sure Ed stayed happy. After seeing what he'd done to Ouroboros, Roy couldn't blame them for being concerned.

"So, Ed," began Al as they drove home at long last. "What's the deal with your leg? I know you rigged both limbs, but what did you do to the leg that needed the extra power?"

"Um, for starters, both limbs were rigged with jacked up hydraulics in the joints to provide greater impact per punch – or kick as the case may be," explained Ed sheepishly. "I also put in the camera and mic in my arm, which you know about. But in order to link to outside monitors, I had to be able to send and receive a Wi-Fi signal of some sort. So, my leg is also a transmitter and its own Wi-Fi hotspot. I'd be tempted to keep it 'cause . . . well, come on, who doesn't want to be their own Wi-Fi hotspot? But it's so exhausting. Even with the work I did on the PCCM's, the drain on my body is still un-fucking-real. I feel like I just ran a marathon with a school bus tied to my back."

"Then let's get you home so we can put you back to rights," said Al kindly. "But, Brother, if you ever do anything this reckless again, I will tie you up and toss you in the loony bin so you can't hurt yourself or others! Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yes, baby brother," said Ed, rolling his eyes with a sigh. "I'll be just as happy to go back to my lab and not do anything dangerous for the rest of my life."

"Somehow I doubt that," muttered Al.

Overall, Ed's injuries weren't too bad, considering how hard he'd fought before Al and Roy busted up the party. He just had a cut above his eyebrow, a black eye, a split lip, some spectacular bruises all over his midsection, another bruise on his jaw, and strained muscles around his automail ports – apparently the added impact he'd calibrated the hydraulics for hadn't taken muscle strain into account, to which Ed only said "oops". In retaliation for the automail fiasco, Al and Winry refused to reinstall his limbs for three whole days. Ed was not a happy bunny.

After he'd recovered, the whole gang met up at Chris's bar Christmas. She'd closed it for the night so it would be reserved just for them to celebrate their victory. By the time everybody showed up, Ed had already been there all day, working on Chris's computers. He'd used his downtime to begin training Chris and a couple of her girls in the use of his re-enactment model. All that was left was to install it for them and up their security. He installed the promised failsafe too, so if the law came to call there'd be nothing for them to find. A flip of the switch and everything on Chris's computers would be dumped into an off-site server, erasing its tracks as it went. And if that wasn't already enough to make him the hero of the hour at Christmas, his pies certainly sealed the deal. When he'd gone over to work on the computers, he'd brought with him half a dozen homemade pies. The guys and girls working for Chris worshipped Ed now.

Everybody that had been involved in the takedown of Ouroboros showed up to what they had affectionately dubbed their "Wrap Party". Even Grumman was there wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt printed to look like a tux. Needless to say, the gang all loved the eccentric executive right away. "So, now that we're all here," called out Breda to get everyone's attention, standing up and lifting his half full mug of beer. "It's time for the magician to reveal his tricks. As we all know, Ed pulled off some shit even God wouldn't dare to do, and he dragged us along on that insane rollercoaster with him. As hair-raising as it was, we all have to admit we had the time of our lives. But we've all been dying to know, what the fuck did you actually do? How the hell did you just bring down a multinational conglomerate, a corrupt university dean, and a whole host of assorted freak show henchmen? More importantly, how the hell are you not in jail for the shit you pulled? Come on, Science God, inquiring minds want to know."

"Fine," said Ed with a mighty sigh. "Okay, we stormed the castle and made possible the rescue of the damsel in distress," he began, pointing to his father who actually did a Queen of England wave, to everyone's amusement. "After that came Phase 2, the first part of which was a media bombardment. All the shit those bastards never wanted to ever see the light of day was suddenly sunbathing. I made that happen by creating a Trojan – a computer virus hidden inside of a seemingly harmless file or function – and setting it to go off the morning after the cops busted up the lab. As soon as the virus hit, it dumped a huge Hiroshima bomb worth of info about the dastardly deeds of our favorite villains. The source for much of this information was Ouroboros itself. You see, while we were raiding the castle, I made off with some of their precious jewels. All I needed was an in for their servers. The rest of it was your classic candy from a baby scenario. I took every piece of data I could get my grubby hands on. When we went to pick up useless over there from the police station, I delivered all of the relevant data to the cops along with access codes to all of the Ouroboros servers. That gave the cops the juice they needed to tear the company apart. But to make it stick, we had to cut the head off the snake, otherwise it'd just slither underground and we'd be fighting the same damn fight all over again a few years down the road. So, we arranged for me to go in and poke the dragon with a stick. The point of that was so that I could badger him into ordering my disposal. That was the final nail in his coffin that I was going for. Now there's nobody to take over who knows how to turn the screws and get this crap swept under the rug like they'd always done before. This time, they all go down and stay down."

Roy and his team all looked at each then at Ed then they all shouted, "All hail the Science God!" This time Ed laughed along with everybody.

"I could really get used to that shit," said Ed, snickering.

"So, now that you've bearded the beast in his lair, saved the damsel in distress, and single-handedly brought us one step closer to world peace, what are you going to do next?" asked Roy, only half-joking.

"Meh, I was thinking I'd take on world hunger, save the whales, and maybe try to get laid," answered Ed, scratching his cheek then he shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a simple man."

"Well, the getting laid part I can help with," said Roy, kissing his cheek as he laughed along with the others. "But the whales and hungry will have to wait until after finals." Ed let out that beautiful, warm laugh of his and turned, kissing him deeply and earning them a few catcalls and wolf whistles.

"I can live with that," he murmured against Roy's lips.

The End

Extra A/N (think of this as a personal outtake):

Let me tell you a little story of the Pink Gun came to be:

I have a friend who teaches self-defense to women and also sells women's self-defense products (i.e. mace, retractable batons, tazers, etc.) (let's call her GunGirl for the time being). One weekend I went with her and two other friends to a weapons expo. I don't normally like weapons (and it's not so much because I'm a pacifist as it is because I'm uncoordinated enough as it is with the weapons I was born with, and have no urge to shoot out my own eye) but I let them talk me into going because I needed to do some research anyway. So, the other friends are on opposing ends of a very broad spectrum. One is 4 yrs older than me, 6'5", and tattoos bikers for a living (for the sake of this story let's call him TallMan). The other is a slender small-time actor who is probably the gayest man I know – or that he knows for that matter (I hereby dub him Tutu – long story, but I've called him this before at his instigation, Tequila and ugly wigs may have been involved, and I still don't recall where we got the wigs or why we decided to string them together to make a skirt). You would expect such a motley band of misfits to be found at a ComiCon, not at a Gun Show, but such is life. As we wandered, we came across a booth geared towards women, and this is where we spotted the tiny pink gun nestled on its little cushion in a glass case. So, TallMan looks at it and says, "I think I just heard one of my testicles screaming as it died." GunGirl says, "I wondered what that sound was. I thought it was the death of good taste." Now, those nearest us are already peering over our shoulders and giggling, but the show's not over yet. Tutu says, in the gayest voice I have ever heard him use (which is really, really saying something – bless his little rainbow-colored heart), "That may even be too gay for me to carry - unless it comes with a handbag and matching shoes." And I add, in my driest voice, "It gives me the urge to throw on a pink boa and start singing Liza." At this point, even the guy manning the booth is holding his side because he's laughing so hard. The death knell came when TallMan and Tutu both belted out the chorus of Life Is A Cabaret. That's the point at which even I couldn't keep a straight face. Next thing you know, all four of us are shoulder-to-shoulder strolling down the thoroughfare of a Gun Show singing Liza Minelli and chortling amongst ourselves. I don't know which shocked me more, our appalling singing or that we didn't get kicked out (please note that I wasn't the least bit shocked by our behavior. Frankly, we've done worse). I really need to stop hanging out with artists and theater people. And that is the story of the notorious Pink Gun and how it wound up in this story (Yes, Virgina, the Pink Gun does exist).