268Ed appreciated a punch-first-ask-questions-later approach as much as the next person. It was very much his life's motto, but that was because it was usually just him and Al, and his little brother was a tank and Ed could take care of himself just fine.
But even he had some reservations about the plan.
"You know," Ed began, glancing down at the empty square below, "if this goes south, it'd be great if I could borrow your body to—"
"Forget it," Mustang shot back, eyes stuck in a pair of binoculars as he scanned the streets for life. The city was asleep by this time of night, and Central Square was the perfect place for an ambush; as one of the oldest parts of the capitol, the roadways were narrow and there was no vehicular access, meaning less traffic in general. It made it ideal for a small shootout, with less risk of injuring innocent passersby and less chance of them being overwhelmed by a large force, military or otherwise.
Ed groaned, crossing his arms and stalking to the far side of the rooftop to check the alleyway. Al should be showing up any minute. "Don't think I'm going to ask permission if I need to save your sorry life again."
"That's the nicest threat you've ever made to me."
". . .Shut up, Mustang."
"Is he wanting to possess someone again?" Hughes asked conversationally from the other corner of the roof. Instead of binoculars, he was surveying the area through the scope of a rifle. Ed didn't know the man was a sharpshooter.
"Are you volunteering?" Mustang asked.
"Nope. Maybe there's a stray cat down there he can take over."
"That's . . . a bizarre mental image," Mustang said, clearly just as disturbed as Ed felt.
Ed suppressed a shudder. "Hughes doesn't get to offer suggestions anymore."
"Agreed," Mustang said.
Hughes didn't ask, he just stared through his scope with a dumb grin on his face.
At least, if Phase Two didn't work out, Ed would be able to be directly involved in Phase Three.
Mustang put a hand to the headset Fuery had outfitted them with. Both the Master Sergeant and Falman had met them there in the square with some 'borrowed' military supplies, having already scoped out the area earlier that day in preparation for their ambush. "Fugitive One to Three, check in, over."
There was a pause, then a muffled, "Three here," from Hawkeye. Ed gazed across the rooftops to the old church tower to the north across the square, it's marble walls almost glowing in the bright moonlight. She was stationed at the highest point, with strict orders not to leave her post unless absolutely necessary. Fuery was there too, to provide her with additional support and to be a more mobile piece in the game Mustang had set up. Ed knew that the Colonel didn't think she was well enough to be out here period, and that condition had been the only way Mustang allowed her in the field. "No signs of movement, over." she reported.
At least, Ed thought with a side-eye to Hughes, Mustang had the decency to assign himself a babysitter, too. The man wasn't exactly in combat shape.
"Fugitive One to Four, check in, over."
"Four here," Havoc's voice drawled, probably around a cigarette. The man was stationed to the south of the clocktower, to Ed's left, high up on the roof of a tall judicial building. "Nothing here, over."
"Fugitive One to Six, check in, over."
"Six here, all is quiet, over," Falman replied crisply. He and Breda were positioned ground level below Hawkeye, dressed in black and ready when the time came.
Now, where was Al?
"One, this is Three, we've got movement coming up Renoir Street, over." Hawkeye said.
"Four here," Havoc said. "I've got eyes on it. Our bird is in flight, over."
"Copy that," Mustang said.
"Your radio names are the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Ed muttered.
Mustang swung his binoculars to the mouth of Renoir Street, brushing his newly brunet hair from his eyes as he did. "Funny, I don't recall asking you."
Ed still wasn't over the brown hair, and was about to say as much when he caught a glimmer of moonlight off metal, and then Alphonse appeared from the shadows of the alleyway, walking like someone was trailing him and he knew it.
"Someone's following him," Ed said.
"As long as they're homunculi and not military," Mustang said, then into the radio, "Fugitive One to all units. We've got potential hostiles tailing our bird. Stay sharp, over."
A chorus of "copy," and "romeo," sputtered from the device before it went silent.
Al stepped into the middle of the square, then tilted his head, the squeak of metal impossibly loud in the stillness of the night.
"Six, Five, Two, Four," Mustang murmured into the radio. "Commence Phase Two, over."
Another round of acknowledgement, then Falman, Breda, Hughes, and Havoc opened fire on Alphonse.
Al may have been a tank, but Ed's noncorporeal stomach still twisted when the bullets hit.
The shots ricocheted off of his armor in a shower of sparks. Al brought up his arms a show of defense, then he ran for the fountain in the middle of the square, clapping his hands and pressing them to the ground. A shield of stone blossomed around him, effectively blocking their fire.
Hughes' rifle went silent, everyone else following suit.
The quiet was deafening.
"Come out with your hands up!" Falman's voice called. Ed had to lean over the railing to spot them just below, Falman and Breda advancing with weapons drawn on Al's cover.
"This is why this is a terrible idea," Ed said.
Another clap, a flash of blue, and stone spikes were racing their way, forcing the two to dive for cover in the awning of a building before the light had even faded.
Alphonse charged forward, the gunfire resumed, but it was very obvious that Alphonse was holding back.
Like, way back.
Like, Falman-and-Breda-should-have-been-broken-bodies-on-the-ground-in-that-first-attack back.
"Nobody's going to buy this," Ed said, gesturing widely. "Anybody with half a brain cell could see he's holding back. Even you can see he's holding back! Let me go before they see right through this!"
Mustang blew a long breath from his nostrils. "All units, we are commencing Phase Three, stand by."
That's all Ed needed to hear.
He sprinted to the back of the building and vaulted over the railing in one smooth leap, landing on the fire escape below. There was no shriek of metal to announce his landing, and the steps didn't even shake underfoot. He ran down three and a half flights, then jumped the last half to the ground.
He was quickly developing some theories about being dead and physics. It seemed that as he was immaterial, he couldn't have an effect on the outside world, and it couldn't have an effect on him unless it he assumed it would have an effect on him. He thought it might have had something to do with expectations, like he expected to not sink through the roof of the building, and he expected to be able to sit on a sofa; mind over literal matter.
That being said, it seemed like he expected gravity to hurt.
He landed hard, his metal ankle taking most of the force by habit. It didn't break, but the nerves in his thigh screamed in protest like his leg had been asleep and he'd stuck his toe in an electrical outlet.
A brief shout of pain and surprise tore from his lips before he could clamp his jaw shut.
Then he remembered absolutely no one but Mustang could hear him. So, he screamed a few choice words into the night as he hobbled to the square in a broken run, turning the corner and heading straight towards Breda.
They had practiced a few times before, when they'd first arrived in the square a couple of hours ago. Breda had handled the experience better than Falman; the older man kept reflexively throwing him out no matter how much warning he got. Breda accepted him in with a lot of complaining, but Ed was just happy to be back in the game, even if his host was unwilling.
It was their backup plan because the experience was, in Mustang's words, unpleasant, and he wanted Ed as close as possible for communication, just in case.
Well, Ed could communicate just fine when he had a body, and it wouldn't be just to Mustang. If anyone asked him, the old man was paranoid.
Mustang had also prattled on about not wanting to subject another human being to Ed's presence more than necessary, and Ed had valiantly resisted the urge to possess the Colonel and strangle him to death with his own hands.
Breda's mind had the same feel Ed associated with mountains; cool, unwavering, sharp. His center of gravity was closer to what Ed was used to—not saying it was lower or anything, just better.
And despite appearances, Breda was fast.
Ed stopped Breda's body, turned on a cenz, and faced Alphonse.
"Alright!" he called out, Breda's voice booming off the stone buildings as he played up the drama. "Enough playing! I'm a very dangerous alchemist, so you'd better surrender, or else!"
Al peeked out from around another barricade. "Bro—I mean, oh!" he said, stepping out to fully face Ed. "Alright! Come and get me, then!"
Ed grinned, then immediately obliged, darting forward in Breda's body to meet Al head-on.
Easy, kid! Breda thought his way. Watch the knees!
So, you're old too, huh? Ed thought, but he did feel a slight twinge in the man's knee when he leapt off the ground to plant a kick in Al's face. He didn't get as high as he might normally have had he been in his own body, but he managed to plant a kick square in Al's middle. Al twisted out of the way before Ed could follow up, coming back inside Ed's defenses to make a swipe at his head. Ed blocked it with his right arm out of reflex.
But wow, that hurt.
Hey! Not everything's made of metal! Breda shrieked.
"I noticed!" Ed snarled in Breda's voice, jumping back out of the way of Al's next swipe and cradling the smarting limb.
Once Ed figured out that he couldn't attack with his left leg and right arm without consequence—and that Breda's body wasn't in quite the same physical shape that Ed's was—, he entered into a familiar rhythm with his brother. They had sparred so much over the years that it was a well-known dance. Even the alchemy they fired at one another was predictable, the only uncertainty the order.
Ed almost got lost in it when Breda got his attention.
Something's wrong, he said. Look up.
Ed backpedaled out of Al's incoming blow, shooting a hasty glance upward. He couldn't see any sign of Mustang or Hughes, or of anything amiss, but Breda had good instincts and Ed trusted the man's intuition.
"Six, radio One!" he called to Falman over his shoulder, darting forward to plow a foot into the armor's abdomen. Al used the opportunity to snatch his leg and twist. Ed followed the momentum, spinning in Al's grip and letting Breda's other leg fly, taking Al's helmet from his shoulders. It sailed through the air, bounced off a building, then clattered to the ground like an empty metal bowl.
"My head!" Al cried, spinning Ed flat on his rear and clamoring after it.
"Sir!" Falman called.
Ed got to his feet with a groan. "What?"
He looked at Falman's face and all of his irritation evaporated.
"They're not answering," he said, a waver in his voice. "None of them are."
XxXxX
Roy's first indication that something was wrong was Havoc's lack of confirmation when he ordered Phase Three.
He picked up the radio.
"Four, this is One, come in, over."
No answer.
He peered out across the square to Havoc's building, but the man's sniper nest was well hidden on the roof and Roy had never been able to see it in the first place.
"All available units, anyone have eyes on Four? Over."
A pause, then, "Three here," Hawkeye said. "No eyes on Four, over."
He peered down into the square. If Breda's new acrobatics were anything to go by, Ed had taken over his body. He and Falman were indisposed at the moment and wouldn't be able to see Havoc from their vantage point anyway.
"You think something's wrong?" Hughes asked beside him.
At the verbal suggestion, Roy became aware of something uneasy gnawing on the inside of his stomach. "Yes."
Roy didn't have to look at his friend to know he agreed.
Roy hadn't liked posting Havoc alone, but Havoc was one of his most capable men in combat, and it had been by necessity. They needed another set of eyes in another location, and both Roy and Riza were not well enough to be here on their own.
He prayed his decisions hadn't just gotten another subordinate killed.
No. Don't think like that.
"Hughes, can you check it out?"
Hughes hesitated, looking torn between wanting to do what he'd asked, and not wanting to leave Roy's side. Finally, he nodded. "Radio it in, will you? I don't want Riza to shoot me." He left his rifle and stand behind, drawing his sidearm and heading back to the fire escape.
"Three, this is One," Roy said into the radio. "Four is not responding. I'm sending Two to check into it, over."
Silence.
Something cold dropped into Roy's gut.
"Three, do you copy?"
He looked across the square to the old church, unable to make out anything in its shadowed recesses.
Still no answer.
Then he saw muzzle flash light up the bell tower, the sharp bark of gunfire striking his ears a half-second later, six, nine, twelve times before everything went quiet.
The cold thing in his gut launched up to crush his lungs.
Riza.
"Well, well," a low, sultry voice purred.
Roy whirled around, heart in his throat and hand raised to set someone ablaze.
A devastatingly beautiful woman stood on the roof not three meters away, alabaster skin shining in the moonlight, a dark dress hugging every dangerous curve of her attractive figure. Her black hair cascaded down her back in graceful waves, a few curls perfectly framing sharp, violet eyes and bloodred lips.
But what Roy really honed in on was the crimson tattoo circling just above her generous chest and, more notably, the inhumanly long claws sprouting from her fingertips, bridging the space between them, coming to rest at the hollow of Roy's throat.
"Colonel Mustang," she said, full lips curved in a dangerous smile. "And here I was hoping you were dead."
Welp. That went downhill quickly xD Even by Ed's standards . . .
Okay, this chapter gave me fits, but there it is. I cannot edit more than I've edited and still post sometime in the month of May :'D This one has been finished for a while, I just tweaked it to death. Not thrilled with it, but then again, am I ever? xD I decided to tone down the radio etiquette, because it is, from my research, SUPER repetitive, and I'm like, this is so hard to read :'D So I hope you can excuse the inaccuracy, it was done intentionally to make it less of a momentum-killer.
SCHOOL IS OUT! I have graded my last essay, and I'm emotionally done. Some of my kiddos wrote me really emotional goodbye letters, and one former student painted me this huge canvas that I'm going to treasure for the rest of my life, and I'm not crying, you're crying ;n; But, to distract myself from the emotional devastation, I set up my kiddie pool again! :D It's robo-shark time, guys.
Seriously the best $5 I've ever spent in my life.
So if you need me, I'll be soaking up some vitamin D in my inflatable pool while I read fan fic and scroll through tumblr.
If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter c:
God Bless,
-RainFlame
