A/N: This is my first multi-chaptered story I've ever written, so it's all very exciting. I want to thank Sevlow and Pyroluminescence- this story was inspired by a picture from Sevlow's Deviantart account and a story idea of Pyroluminescence's, and they very generously let me borrow their ideas. Also, my wonderful beta mebh deserves a mention- if it weren't for her I don't know if I'd have even gotten this far. Hope you like the story! Oh, and I nearly forgot, I don't own Fullmetal alchemist. Yet.

Colonel Mustang stood in the middle of the dank cellar, fighting the mild feelings of claustrophobia that the confined space was eliciting in him. The low ceiling forced him to duck his head uncomfortably and his eyes strained to see clearly in the dim light. In the corner of his vision, Roy could just make out Lieutenant Hawkeye investigating the far corners of the room, gun held ready for any sign of threat, and he relaxed slightly. He instantly tensed again as he heard soft footsteps behind him, his right hand twitching at his side, before he realised it was Havoc. He turned to face the second lieutenant, who was now only a few feet away from him, his taller form hunched even more awkwardly beneath the concrete ceiling. Roy tried his best to banish his anxiety and fatigue, to muster up some hidden reserve of confidence and authority for the sake of his subordinate but he just couldn't do it. It seemed as if the last five weeks had sucked out all of his usual confidence, the constant stress and fear destroying his normally effortless composure. He hadn't slept for more than three hours at a time for weeks, and he couldn't even remember when he'd last eaten a solid meal.

"Don't worry, Boss," he heard Havoc murmur behind him. "We'll find him, I'm sure of it." He paused slightly and Roy could tell he only half believed the words he was speaking. He continued speaking, nonetheless. "Even if he's not here, there are still plenty of leads we haven't ruled out yet. None of us are going to give up, Sir." Roy nodded tightly, not trusting himself to reply to Havoc's soft words of support, or even to turn and look at the man. He could not allow himself to accept the comfort- weak and unfounded as it was- that Havoc offered as he knew he would break down completely if he let his rigid mask slip, even for one second.

Five weeks… Maes had been missing for five weeks, and with every day that slipped uselessly by, Roy could feel the suffocating tendrils of terror tighten around him, the silent panic escalating until he felt unable to breathe. But Roy couldn't let his own fear overwhelm him; Maes was depending on him. His friend needed him to stay calm and in control, to methodically search every possible location, follow up every lead, until Maes was found and brought safely home to his family. An image of Gracia and Elysia's anxious faces flashed through his mind; determination mixed with dread. He would not- could not- fail them.

"Of course we will, Lieutenant," he replied smoothly. With what seemed like terrible effort, Roy turned around to face Havoc, his trademark confident smirk placed firmly on his lips. The protective façade that smile offered was wearing dangerously thin, had been for weeks now, and every moment that Hughes remained missing it grew more fragile, more likely to shatter. "Well, let's get a move on then, shall we? We've established this location is safe, now let's go and find what we came for."

Roy motioned to a squat, oak door on the far side of the room;, free of ornamentation or marking but sturdy-looking and heavily locked. He could see Havoc's look of apprehension- the doorframe was even lower than the ceiling, if such a thing were possible, and Roy could tell his lieutenant was not relishing having to crawl through whatever cramped, squalid passageway lay behind it.

Knowing Havoc would follow behind him, Roy moved to towards the door, pulling out a piece of chalk from his pocket as he did so. He found himself half wishing that Fullmetal were there with him- obnoxious as the kid was, he would have been useful for this. Roy knew, though, that he had made the right decision in insisting that Ed stay behind. The boy was desperate to help search for Hughes but in the back of his mind Roy acknowledged what he could not bring himself to think of consciously- that Hughes, when -if- they found him, would likely be in no state to be seen by the young man who admired him so much. Despite his insistence otherwise, Roy desperately wanted to protect Fullmetal from such situations, as much as was possible. The boy already had enough burdens.

Roy sketched a simple array on the heavy wooden door and the lock sprang open, the entrance leading, as predicted, onto another narrow, dark staircase. But unlike the creaky, wooden stairs that had brought them to the cellar, these steps were steep and uneven, made of rough-cut, ancient stone. The damp walls were flecked with moss and the air felt stagnant and musty. Behind him, Roy could hear Havoc muttering a prayer to ward off evil influences- a remnant from his second lieutenant's upbringing in the rural West. Roy himself set no store in such superstitions, but even he felt as if a strange chill passed over him as he gazed into the gloom of the subterranean passageway. He was a man of science, of reason, but the unrelenting darkness had a deeply unsettling aura about it that set his teeth on edge; a cloying, oppressive air of malevolence.

Shaking off his feelings of unease, Roy raised one gloved hand and turned his attention to transmuting a light source to guide their way through the dark tunnel. The normally simple task was complicated by the limited supply of oxygen in either the cellar they were standing in or the tunnel they were about to enter. Concentrating on the movement of the air above him, Roy pulled down a fresh stream of oxygen from the street above, silently thankful that Breda and Fuery had remembered to keep the doors open. Havoc started slightly as he felt the gentle rush of cool air brush his cheek, shooting his boss a look of admiration. Roy supposed Havoc had never had really seen how versatile his alchemy could be.

Now for the slightly more tricky part:- providing a fuel that would burn at a slow, constant rate and could be easily controlled. Carefully, Roy manipulated the molecules of carbon dioxide and water in the stale, damp air round them, recombining the elements to produce methane gas. A snap of his fingers ignited the compact, gaseous globe, the soft, golden light chasing away the murky shadows crowding around them. Roy adjusted the transmutation to make it self-sustaining, the products of the combustion reforming to maintain the fuel and oxygen needed to keep the globe burning. It probably would have been easier, the part of his mind still capable of wry observation noted, to have remembered to bring a lamp.

Roy felt a light touch on his arm as Lieutenant Hawkeye returned to his side. He turned to look at her for a moment, trying to draw strength from the silent support he could see in her deep, amber eyes. Then, with a confidence he did not feel, Roy turned back to the doorway and stepped into the tiny passage, motioning for his lieutenants to follow.

Roy walked cautiously down the steep stairs, the globe of light casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sound of his boots hitting the stone seemed unnaturally loud in the lifeless silence of the tunnel. Behind him, he could hear Havoc's heavy footfalls, his second lieutenant's movements made clumsy by the cramped space. Hawkeye's precise, measured steps sounded in his ear, her presence providing a reassuring stability as she walked- as always- two paces behind him. As they descended further down the winding staircase, however, Roy became aware of other, far less comforting sounds rising up from the darkness. High-pitched, animalistic wailing reverberated throughout the tunnel, growing in strength with every step that they took. The inhuman cries were a cacophony of many different pitches and volumes but each wordless voice spoke vividly in a single message of suffering. Roy could hear Havoc's feet shuffling with a discomfort that had nothing to do with the low ceiling and found himself silently agreeing with his subordinate. Just what kind of place were they heading into, exactly?

Rounding yet another twist of the roughly spiral stairway, a second, equally disturbing sound joined the echoing screams- a constant, frantic scratching that made Roy's skin crawl. The noise told of a terror so primal, so embedded in living consciousness, that it took all of Roy's self control to force himself to continue walking towards the source of the ancient, unknown horror, even as all his most base instincts told him to run, to return to the brightness and safety of the world outside the tunnel. The thought that Maes could be trapped in this hellish, subterranean prison, doubtless mistreated and suffering, spurred him on, his footsteps increasing in speed as they neared the end of the stairs.

As Roy turned the final corner, he stopped dead. The sight that greeted his eyes was horrific, every bit as awful as the tortured screams had promised. The stairway entered onto a dark, cavernous space, lit only by a few flickering torches and a handful of old-fashioned oil lamps. The floor was painted wet and sticky with blood, freshly spilt by its ruby-red appearance, with older, muddier stains clearly visible in the places where the newest crimson coating had not yet encroached. The smell was cloying and almost unbearable- a mixture of the sharp, bitter tang of potent chemicals and the sickly-sweet stench of blood and decay. Rusting iron cages lined each of the walls and it was only once Roy's eyes had adjusted to the dim, shadowy light of the vast dungeon enough to clearly make out the writhing shapes that lay behind the bars that he understood the terrible extent of the nightmare they had stumbled upon.

Hideous, misshapen creatures crowded the squalid cages, their demented, bloodshot eyes rolling back and forth inside their skulls as they threw themselves at the metal bars, clawing, biting and scratching each other in a desperate effort to escape. This close, the noise was overwhelming, the howls, shrieks, screams and moans of each creature amplified by the vast, domed ceiling. The creatures themselves were abominations that almost defied rational belief; each beast seemingly sewn together from the mangled remains of other, more recognisable life forms. Here, the head of a lion attached to an eagle's body, there, a snake's scaly skin encasing a gazelle's willowy form, its mouth open to reveal venomous fangs. Eight monstrous, spindly legs stretched out from between the bars of one cage and Roy could see there was the head and torso of an ape attached to the oversized arachnid body.

Chimera; his mind whispered darkly as he struggled to suppress the horrified shiver that he felt building inside him. One of the most ancient and controversial of alchemic arts, the successful transmutation of a chimera, an unnatural beast fused from the bodies of many different creatures, was a prize that had been sought by many practitioners throughout the centuries. It was only recently, however, with the State sponsorship of chimera research, that any great leaps had been made in the arcane field. Roy had heard Basque Gran speak very highly of the pioneering work of Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life alchemist, and there were always whispered rumours of the mysterious research being conducted behind the walls of Lab Three. Surveying the suffering, deformed creatures in front of him, Roy felt his stomach twist in distaste at the thought of his fellow State Alchemists being involved in such sordid affairs.

"Hawkeye, Havoc," Roy heard himself say to the two lieutenants standing behind him, his voice raised to drown out the howling of the chimeras, somehow remaining steady despite the terror and fatigue weighing down on him. He could sense his officers' own unease even without seeing their faces, could tell that they, like him, were fighting to maintain their professional demeanour in the face of such horror. "Spread out and investigate the area. Check for any signs that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is here, or that he may ever have been. Look in the cages but be careful- I don't have to tell you how dangerous those chimeras could be."

The two officers assented sharply, both moving out from behind Roy, their guns out of their holsters. Riza turned to glance questioningly at him as she passed and Roy shot her an answering look- go with Havoc, I'll be fine- before tugging at his gloves and striding off in the opposite direction, his eyes darting about constantly in search of danger. Sticky, thickening blood pooled around his boots as he walked and the globe of fire that he kept alight seemed only to paint the darkness a slightly paler shade, casting ominous shadows into the gloom. He felt light-headed with exhaustion and the strain of maintaining such a delicately balanced transmutation for so long, but he couldn't afford to rest now. Roy glanced down at the blood still flowing over the rough slabs of stone, noticing that it appeared to be seeping out from under the doors of one of the cages against the far wall. He followed the lazy red stream back to its source, noticing with alarm that several cages were unlocked and open, their thick bolts seemingly torn apart, a feat of strength no human was capable of.

Roy peered into one of the cages, warily pushing open the unlocked door. There was no movement from within the cramped cell, but in the dim lighting he could just about see the shape of a creature lying near the wall and he was not about to take any chances that the thing was not completely dead. As he approached the huddled form, Roy could tell that his caution was unnecessary- the beast, a hairless, dog-like chimera, was clearly dead. Its throat had been ripped open, the furrowed cartilage of its trachea split in two, dark, thickening blood still oozing slowly from the severed tube. The creature's head was bent back at a vicious angle, its eyes staring blankly, wide and unseeing. Small wounds marred its pale hide. - Roy shifted the globe of light closer to see more clearly- teeth marks? Perhaps one of the chimeras had escaped? No, he realised with a quick stab of horror, the bites were not from any enraged hybrid. The small, neat marks were from human teeth.

Gingerly, Roy examined the body more closely, being careful not to let any of the congealing blood stain his gloves and render him powerless. Muddy shadows striped across the chimera's emaciated frame as the fiery orb beyond the bars grew sickly with his fatigue but they could not obscure the vivid, bloody handprints pressed viciously into the pitiful creature's naked skin. Roy's mind reeled in horror, almost unable to comprehend such an atrocity. He could not accept the hideous speculation that already whispered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Surely, surely, Hughes would not be found in a place such as this.

He stepped back from the corpse, pressing his back against the hard metal of the bars of the neighbouring cell- there were no walls that separated the rabid, unnatural beasts, just thin slats of iron. It wasn't until he felt four long, slender limbs creep slowly around his body that he realised his dreadful mistake. The spider-chimera's grip tightened as he tried to move away, one monstrous leg brushing gently against his face, curiously exploring this newest intruder. Roy felt panic rising uncontrollably within him and he reacted on instinct, struggling wildly against the nightmarish embrace, his hands grabbing desperately at the chimera's limbs as he fought uselessly to escape. The globe of light flickered weakly before extinguishing completely, the transmutation forgotten as blind, senseless terror overtook him.

The loss of illumination was like a slap to the face, freeing him from the cloying fog of panic. Roy forced himself to be still, taking slow, calming breaths - , the sudden absence of the fire belatedly reminding him of his own abilities. There was no need for him to give in uselessly to his fear.

Roy raised his hand and snapped, carefully aiming the flames through the bars of the cage, as far away from himself as possible. A bright stream of heat and light rushed past his face before enveloping the monstrous creature. Its shrill, agonised screams echoed off the cavern walls, the shrieking voice of an ape stirring a measure of horrified pity from Roy. This wretched creature could not be blamed for the monstrosity of its own nature. The fault lay at the feet of the beast's creator; some deranged criminal masquerading as a man of science.

The chimera's grasp loosened, shrinking away behind the bars once more as the creature curled in on itself in its agony. Roy leapt away at once, his boots knocking against the dog-chimera's corpse as he did so. The scent of burning flesh assaulted his senses- different, perhaps, from that which he was most used to, but no less horrific. The acrid smell of charred chitin and evaporated fat mixed together in the airless cell made him want to gag. Roy fought down his nausea and tried to calm his shaken nerves as he heard the sound of running feet approaching. Havoc and Hawkeye had doubtless heard the screaming even if they had not seen the fire and would be anxious to know that he was okay.

"Colonel Mustang! Sir, are you alright?" Hawkeye shouted, concern obvious in her voice. He could see her running towards him, holding a burning torch in one hand, her gun in the other. Havoc was at her shoulder, gun raised, eyes darting all around for any sign of further danger.

"I'm fine!" He called, walking as steadily as he could out of the cell. Hawkeye had reached the door now. She glanced towards the smoking, shuddering body of the chimera, a brief look of horrified disgust flitting across her face. Roy moved towards her, meeting her anxious gaze. "I let my guard down. One of the chimeras tried to grab me but I managed to fight it off using my alchemy. I'm unharmed, I promise."

Hawkeye nodded sharply, only her eyes betraying her relief. She turned back towards the chimera, which was now issuing low moans of pain and fear, its scorched limbs shrivelled and twitching horribly. Roy could not bring himself to look at it, instead focussing on her steady, amber gaze. As if reading his thoughts, Hawkeye turned silently and shot the beast, aiming through the bars. The bullet struck the chimera in its head, killing it instantly. Roy breathed a soft sigh of gratitude and relief, thankful that the pitiful creature had been spared from further suffering.

Having determined that her colonel was safe, Hawkeye allowed a small smile to grace her features as she softly replied. "Weren't you the one who told us, only a few minutes ago, to be careful around these chimeras? Really, Sir, you're impossible."

Roy returned the smile weakly, moving with her as she walked over to the cage. He showed her the body of the dog-chimera and the suspicious teeth marks upon its skin and they shared a look of muted horror, neither wanting to speculate on what this might mean but both unable to stop from doing so. Roy motioned Havoc over from where he had been keeping watch, several yards away. Havoc turned to join them but then stopped abruptly and, even in the dim light of Hawkeye's torch, his shock was clear.

"Hey, Boss, come over here. I think you need to see this," Havoc called. He was staring into the cage next to the one that had housed the spider-chimera, so far overlooked in all the drama. Roy rushed to stand by his side, Hawkeye following closely with the torch. Together they followed Havoc's gaze to inside the squalid cell, the flickering light of the torch leaving no room for doubt of the sight before them.

A narrow bed was pushed up against the far wall, away from the reach of the chimeras on either side. The bed was bolted to the floor and- Roy's heart clenched painfully with unease at the sight- fitted with a full set of restraints. His cautious investigation confirmed that these had not been disturbed, suggesting that whoever had been imprisoned here- and it could not have been Maes, surely it could not have been Maes- had not escaped but had been set free willingly. But where were they now? And what terrible things had been done to them?

Roy was still inspecting the area around the bed when a sudden burst of colour caught his eye, a thin rectangle against the dull, grey stone. He picked it up curiously, his mind taking a while to comprehend the image before him. When it did, Roy felt as if he had been stabbed in the chest, the full force of agonised realisation sweeping away all his doubts and denials. There, in his hand, lay a small, tattered photograph of Elysia Hughes, her chubby, three year old face lit up in an impish grin that seemed so out of place in the dark horror of the underground prison. The picture was undeniable proof that Hughes was here, or had been at some point; held captive by some insane alchemist, suffering torment that Roy could not bear to imagine. He felt hatred and rage building inside him at the thought of his best friend strapped helplessly to this filthy little bed, listening to the screeches and wails of the chimeras all around him, refused any amount of comfort or dignity. Roy forced himself to push the anger away, to concentrate on the task at hand. Hughes could easily still be alive, somewhere within this hellish dungeon, desperately waiting for Roy to rescue him. Roy could not allow himself to let his friend down.

Silently, Roy walked over and handed the photograph to Hawkeye, trying hard to ignore her quiet gasp when she realised, instantly, what it meant. He looked at both her and Havoc in turn, his voice strong and confident despite his fear. He would stay as strong as he needed to be, until Hughes was safe.

"Alright, this photograph is proof that Hughes was definitely held here at some point in the last five weeks, and it's likely that he is still here. Many of these chimeras are still alive, which means that whoever was keeping them down here must still be around, or gone recently. We need to continue searching and see if we can find any further clues as to the colonel's whereabouts, or if not, the identity of the person responsible for this... place." Roy was unable to keep the twist of disgust out of his voice as he spoke those last words. It was similar, in many ways, to the way he had felt when he first arrived in Ishval, when he realised the duties the military had wanted him to perform. Whoever had created this horrific laboratory had tainted the science of alchemy, dirtied it and twisted it to suit their own depraved goals.

"Understood, Sir," Hawkeye replied. She followed him as he stepped out of the cage, her sharp eyes squinting in the dim light. Not for the first time, Roy was thankful for her presence. He could hardly see a thing. She pointed to something in the shadows, a slightly different shaded darkness to the rest of the cavern wall. Carefully, he used his alchemy to increase the oxygen supply to the torch, making the flame burn brighter and the shapes in the dark clearer. His head swam from even that small exertion and Hawkeye shot him a look of concern but he resolutely ignored it. He could not afford to be tired here.

The dark shape turned out to be a door, made from dark, ornately carved wood, much like the one that had led to the tunnel. Roy walked towards it, motioning for his lieutenants to follow. Carefully, he opened the door, not locked as the one above ground had been, and stepped through.

The room turned out to be a laboratory, small and tidy, a startling contrast to the vastness and squalor of the dungeon before it. There were a few kerosene lamps burning on the walls, their flames stuttering and flickering weakly. Roy looked around, trying to gain whatever information he could from the objects around him. The alchemical apparatus lining the two benches and the shelves appeared somewhat outdated but the diagrams and transmutation circles sketched on the walls were undoubtedly advanced. There was a large blackboard, with scribbled equations and drawings and a traditional alchemical furnace that looked as if it hadn't been lit in years. Then there was-

There was a body on the floor. Roy could see the feet sticking out from behind the bench closest to the wall. He stepped cautiously into the room, Hawkeye only a few steps behind. He could feel his heart beating painfully in his chest, fear battling hope. He wished desperately to find Maes, but he did not know if he could bear being faced with his best friend's corpse. But if Maes were not here, after all? Would he be searching for him forever?

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Roy forced his mind to stop wandering in such fatalistic directions and instead to focus on the task at hand. He rounded the corner of the bench and gazed down at the body, an unidentifiable surge of emotions welling up inside him when he realised it was not Maes that lay there lifeless on the floor before him. This man was far older and far shorter, dressed in plain, grey trousers and a threadbare doctor's coat that perhaps had been white, once. He was clearly dead, his face contorted into a frozen grimace of horror, his watery blue eyes wide and unblinking. There was no movement of the chest, no sound of breathing. The closer Roy examined the body, however, the more he realised that something was wrong. He had seen corpses before, more than he could count in Ishval. More still, when he had helped Maes with a few of his cases. He knew that pallor and coldness were to be expected, but this... the body was too pale, its skin seeming somehow shrivelled and shrunken against its bones. Roy lifted an icy hand from the floor- no livor mortis; the blood should have pooled in the palms, pulled down by the tug of gravity, but there was nothing. There was, however, a small staining of almost fresh blood around the man's collar, rusty red against the stark whiteness of his skin. He pulled it down to check for a wound and felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the same, neat, human bite marks that had marred the skin of the dog-chimera. There was blood smeared around the wound, and faint, red finger marks at the man's neck.

Now that Roy saw the wound, the strange state of the body became clear. It had been drained of all blood, literally sucked dry. He felt sick with horror and disgust and had to force his racing mind to be silent, to stop all the theories and speculations chattering in his head. Stronger than the horror, however, was the familiar whispering of worry and dread. If this body was not Maes, then where was he? Had he met a similar end to this man? Roy felt no pity for the alchemist lying cold and lifeless before him; it was almost certain that this was the man responsible for the creation of the chimera and the imprisonment of his best friend, and so he had deserved his death, and worse, but it was not a fate Roy could countenance for the man he loved as a brother.

A terse, anxious call from his first lieutenant drew Roy out of his musings. He ran over to where Hawkeye was standing in the far corner of the tiny lab and stopped dead, a soft cry of shock forcing its way out of his mouth before he could stop it. There, sprawled out, motionless on the stone, was Maes Hughes. He was covered completely in blood; its sticky, half-dried wetness staining his strange, hospital-like clothes, clumping together in his too-long hair, coating his cheeks and forehead. His lips were smeared red and small beads of blood had congealed as they ran, lazily, down his chin. Roy dropped to his knees before the body of his friend, breathing out a harsh sigh of relief that sounded disconcertingly like a sob when he realised that Maes was still breathing. Roy checked his pulse. Maes' heartbeat throbbed strong and steady beneath his fingers, even stronger, perhaps, than was normal.

Not allowing himself to give into relief just yet, Roy ghosted his hands over Maes' body, searching for signs of a wound, some indication of where the blood could be coming from. He found nothing. But confusion and dark whispers of suspicion soon gave way to relief and joy at having finally found his best friend, alive and - at least apparently- unharmed. He felt dizzy with the happiness the news brought, his head swimming wildly as white spots spreading across his vision. For weeks he had pushed himself to his limits, surviving off enough brief snatches of sleep to stave off absolute exhaustion, forcing himself relentlessly to follow up every lead, search every location. Now, with Maes only a stretcher ride away from safety, Roy felt the fine threads that had been holding him together begin to fray and snap. Lieutenant Hawkeye was speaking to him and her voice was suddenly too loud for the small room, though he could not understand a word she was saying. His tongue was thick and fuzzy in his mouth, and when he tried to force it to fashion a response, white patches sprung up in front of his vision, growing and multiplying until he could see little else. Roy reached out desperately for something, anything, to steady himself, but it was already too late. He was sinking backwards, dizzying white being replaced with all-consuming dark and the sudden rush of coldness. Then, all sensation left him and he couldn't feel anything at all.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading, please leave a review if you have time!