Disclaimer: I don't own FMA; neither do I make any profit of this story.
Warnings: slash of the RoyxEd variety, sexual situations, swearing, violence
A/N:This is a repost.
Originally it was just a little attempt on something different – my first first-person point of view. I found that while it was enjoyable to read, it definitely needed editing, so I'm presenting a polished, sparkling new version.
The story follows the series and is actually sort-of compatible. The first scene starts during the 5th episode, around 17:30; the following ones are either new or adapted from the anime and recognisable. Hopefully.
Brynn
A
Prologue: Dash! AutomailA
This freak makes me really mad… or as close as I get to being mad. My calculation is: the world's going to be a lot better place without him.
I don't really know the man who's trying to help me, but he's obviously too kind a person for his own good. I mean… never mind…
"Before I'll kill the General, I kill you."
That's exactly what I meant. This person's one of those, who make my heart ache with all the pain that isn't mine, but which I just can't ignore. To think that there is a man who could aim a gun at a little girl in her mother's arms… because of what? Money? Revenge? What the Hell is worth killing children?
"Wait!"
Not the brightest thing to say, but it definitely works. I didn't need more than a second, and a boyish voice yelling something as out of place works as a perfect distraction. I kick the rooflight open and lose the last bits of my self-control. I jump into a right mess – a lovely squashing match with the one-eyed freak. He has an automail arm… It serves to illustrate my rage that a man four times my weight doesn't manage to throw me off or squeeze me into a tiny ball of meat. Damn my four feet something, I am standing my ground damn well.
"Ha… an automail buddy…" I drawl, slowly getting the grip on myself but never ceding the pressure on my enemy's hands.
The bubble of self-conscious cruelty speaks: "A kid? The military uses the kids, too?"
Surprised? There are countries where you can enter the army as soon as you're sixteen. And then there are countries where a boy gets a gun when he can carry it, is shown what the enemy looks like and left to fend for himself. How many do you think survive the first battle? Too many, each of them having killed a handful of grown men… without a second thought… because they had to…
Because otherwise they wouldn't have survived.
"Sorry for being a kid." That about cuts it. Is it my fault? Yes, of course it is my fault that I am only twelve and my brother is only eleven and we were left half a body together. "But I'm not being used."
"Kid, let me tell you something," he says, almost congenially.
Tell me what? What could you know that I don't? I know about everything there is to know. I know abstract and concrete, I know light and darkness, humanity with all its sewers of crime and the most insidious methods of wrenching a life from its owner. The rat poison, for instance, is purple. I do feel like feeding some to you… but even I don't have the guts to watch you scream in pain as it would slowly eat away on your body… impossible to stop. Speak before I'm done with you; you won't have the chance later.
"I was in the military long time ago. When I was there I wanted to equip myself with something better. But the military didn't like that."
This is the omega. What kind of person does have their own hand cut off? Tears are pressing in my eyes, but I blink them away. The match is getting frustrating and the thought of what I would give to have my missing hand… Some people have so much that they don't know to value it.
"They feared that I was going to become stronger." Stronger? You pathetic murdering fool. You're the grime on the soles of soldiers' boots. "After I received the surgery to get this they threw me away." A mistake. They should have killed you. "That's why… that's why… I want to destroy the military!"
The tears are long since forgotten as my stomach clenches. I feel I'm going to be sick, hopefully all over that freak. Unfortunately, I can't afford such petty metaphor.
"You understand that, right? If you have that arm, you must've wished for the same thing I did… You wished to become stronger than anyone…"
I snap. I am completely, perfectly, eerily calm. There is no way to undo this man, no way to just erase his crimes. There is no way to make him not exist. There is nothing I can do. Only a blackness of everything these accusations are supposed to mean and the fact that I managed to push them out, close it without myself, exists.
"I don't understand at all," I tell him earnestly and glance at my right arm. "Don't compare my automail… to your cheap automail." Winry would be proud. The mass of metal he drags with him was crushed in only five fingers. I allow myself a smirk as the reaction throws him backwards into… Al.
Yeah, Al. A light in my darkness.
I force the unbecoming expression off my face before he spots it as I slide into my role of a brother.
Al gives the freak a punch that is rather… mild, I would say, but from Al's point of view the way of punishing the worst evil-doers – that and a long recreation in prison.
I hope your light never goes out, Al. I'll do all I can to ensure that: a relieved sigh is the first thing, a thumb-up the second. You have done well, my brother. We have pleased Roy Mustang's minion. Maybe he'll help us after all.
A
The railway station looks like… well, like a railway station in the times of relative peace. There are trains and a few people; a platform with a group of bound men, of which the most have been captured by Al and me, with some help from those military guys. It is quite a pity that the Hughes person is in the military as well.
There is a man coming up to them… no, coming straight up to the bloke whose automail I've crushed. It's him, there's no doubt about that. Colonel Roy Mustang. He looks like he sounds: like he knows what he's doing. If he does… he really is a rare specimen.
"Don't kill anyone," he speaks and I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards. He damn well knows. No wonder those two uniformed blondes behind him are all stuck up. "That is what I told you."
Sheesh, the man has style. That's something I won't ever be able to afford. On the other hand, it isn't as if I was interested in women, and who else looks at the style? Maybe some good things come from being a child when one is supposed to act like a child.
"Looks like you listened to me even if it was against your will."
Bullshit. But the female escort is getting starry-eyed… well, not on the outside. She hides it well. But not well enough.
"You're Mustang?" the freak asks and I can just watch as he cuts the manacles with what's left of his 'improvement'. Well… yeah, if that had been a human hand, he wouldn't have been able to free himself… though he wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation either.
I admit – I am curious what's Mustang going to do, even if only to know my enemy. I – we, Al helped me – smote one enemy today. The other just reared his head… and he looks like he's going to be worth all the effort.
He snaps his fingers.
"Wow.."
He's going to be worth all the effort.
Now I can just be glad for the mispronouncing thing when I phoned him. He's going to severely underestimate me and that's just what I want. Let the whole world see me for what I'm supposed to be: a twelve-year-old kid.
"I went easy on you," Mustang remarks nonchalantly. "That shouldn't have affected your body as badly as it looks." Show-off. "I am Roy Mustang. My rank is Lieutenant Colonel." A bloody fucking show-off. "And I am the Flame Alchemist."
I already hate him… or as close as I get to hating someone. You could say… mild dislike. Al, however, doesn't have to know.
"Remember that."
Sure I will.
"That guy is Mustang…" I say, without adding: 'and he looks like he yearns to meet me'. I, naturally, will let him have the pleasure.
"Nii-san!" Al shouts at my back. I ignore him.
"Lieutenant Colonel!" Oh, wow. He looked at me. I'm sooo flattered. I think I'll start drooling right now… Jerk. "You put us on this train knowing about this didn't you?"
"We didn't know everything," he replies, cooler than a cucumber. Of course. "By the way, I have good news."
Good for you or good for us, I wonder.
"The General has heard of your accomplishment-" Sure he has. I'm so disgusted with myself – running around and saving people who give orders to kill. "-and he will be giving the two of you a special permission to take the National Alchemist test."
He so knows what he's doing. No tiny little detail escapes him. He's made us run after the train so he could now smirk and tell us that yes, we get to try and become the dogs of military. Yes, we do receive the permission to become slaves to people without moral. Such joy. Should I smile at you, dogface?
Not in front of Al.
"Special? You told us to take it, that's why we…!"
He smiles… smirks… whatever he does that makes his face split open.
"There's no way that children can take an important military test."
Yeah, I noticed. The children don't take the tests, they're just stood in the front line while the properly tested people sit up on the hill, drink tea and comment on weather, vintage and the progress of the battle.
"See? Aren't you glad that I made you get on that train?"
Take one more step, bastard, and I'll decorate your face with the imprint of my sole… the left one. Damn it. I won't get to do it today, but I swear, Mustang, one day there will be you and me and I'll wipe that smirk of your face. I swear. Still, Al doesn't deserve to see something like that…
And get that hand off of my shoulder. I'm not your son; don't get patronising with me.
"It's your choice whether you take the test or not," he allows amicably.
Oh! Thank you for your permission to decide for myself, oh Mustang-dono!
I steal a sideways peek at Al. He looks contemplative. We have to do this. I know it's not a good idea, brother, but it's the only one I have. I've got to boost your spirits.
"Of course I will! I'll… I'll take the test!"
Mustang leaves. Hughes is smiling as if we were stray kittens who found the way home and bloody Mustang was the best cat-owner walking Amestris. I bet he's got tin cat-food and hectolitres of milk. Urhg.
I hate him.