Fullmetal Alchemist 1. Chapter 1

**[A/N: okay this came about after a bunch of people over on tumblr started coming up with a hunger games fma au and i was asked by several people to try writing it so here it is! Thanks to everyone who helped brainstorm and everything! Enjoy! And review, follow, favorite, whatever if you'd like because I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!]**

* * *

The morning sun hovered above the horizon, sending diagonal strips of orange light across the worn wooden floorboards and bathing the room in a muted gold hue. Outside insects were chirping with the coming of a new day, and inside Edward groaned, face buried in a pillow.

The last few wisps of sleep left him as it became apparent the bugs outside had no intention of stopping anytime soon. As Ed awoke, other sounds began to filter into his ears, breaking up the last of a dream that had already been made incoherent as reality took its hold once more. And when it came to Ed's attention that sleep was now out of his reach, his ears began to focus on the sounds that filled the rest of the house just outside his bedroom door.

There was the clattering of pots and pans, and the sizzle of the stove was just a whisper from downstairs. There was also the shuffling of feet; some soft patters while another was harsh, clanking and hollow. Ed heard conversation as well, though the words were too distant to sound like anything more than quiet muffles, but the tones of their voices were hushed and solemn.

That made sense, Ed thought with an internal groan. Today was the day of the Reaping.

Edward pushed himself up with protesting arms—one flesh and blood, one made of metal. It seemed Pinako had let him sleep in and he was the only one still left in bed. Ed wondered if he should take advantage of that fact and try to go back to sleep for a few hours, but he was certain he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep today even if he tried. Besides, they'd all have to get ready soon anyway, even if Ed wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers until the day passed.

Ed knew he'd have to face his family today eventually; he felt bad almost choosing sleep over them, knowing quietly in the back of his mind that today could damn well be the last time he ever saw any of them.

He shoved that thought quickly from his mind and propelled himself out of bed, hearing the distinct different between his metal foot and flesh foot as they touched the cool floor.

The voices grew louder as Ed opened his bedroom door and traipsed down the stairs, and they slowly quieted as Ed entered the kitchen. He received three good morning greetings from the room's other occupants as Ed walked in further with a tired grunt, heading straight for the stove, where breakfast was waiting.

The rich aroma was intoxicating. It smelt of home and Sunday mornings and almost made Ed believe that this was just the morning of some other special occasion, not the day the town would be sending two kids off to fight to the death.

Ed figured Al had done most of the cooking or at least helped. His brother had always been the better cook of the two and now that his body no longer required sleep or food, he had gotten even better at taking care of those around him, especially when it came to making breakfast before the rest of the house was even fully awake.

Ed's brother was sitting at the table now, his armor hunched and legs pulled tightly together as he tried to fit on the small chair. He was carrying on a conversation with Winry, who was sitting on the opposite end, picking at what was left of the rich food sitting on her plate, while Pinako stood at the sink, cleaning a dish with a grim, concentrating look on her wrinkled face.

As soon as Ed settled at the table, putting his plate down unceremoniously, Winry turned to him. She had her elbow resting on the table and she pointed her fork at him as she spoke. "As soon as you're done we have to do a tune-up on your automail."

Ed let out a disinterested moan. "Can't it wait?" The last thing he wanted to do was have his automail worked on so soon after waking up. Although tune-ups were nowhere near as dreadful as the actual automail installation surgery Ed had gone through when he was eleven, they were still enough to bring him discomfort for the rest of the day. Today of all days Ed could do without the extra burden.

"Just get it over with, you baby. Besides, you said your arm has been stiff lately, didn't you?"

Ed rolled his eyes, stuffing half a sausage in his mouth. "It's not that bad. We can do it later," he said around a mouthful of food.

It was Winry's turn to roll her eyes now. "We have to get ready for the Reaping, you idiot, we don't have time to do it later."

"By _later_ I meant like _tomorrow, _dummy."

"Don't call me a dummy! _You're_ the dummy, you alchemy freak!"

"At least I'm not a crazy grearh—"

"Stop fighting, you guys," Al spoke up quietly. The two blonds turned to look at him. "Not today…"

Winry sighed. "He's right." She stared down at the wooden table. "I just want to make sure your automail is alright in case…anything happens today…"

Ed found himself watching her now that his mechanic had averted her gaze. "Nothing's going to happen," he told her though even he found it hard to be convinced by his own words. Nothing _had _happened to them during all the other years of their Reapings but there was always a shadow of a doubt that this could be the year their luck ran up.

* * *

The tune-up left Ed achy as he knew it would, and the impending rain only made his body even more sore. He found his mood growing more sour as he, Al and the Rockbells filed into the town square with the rest of the Resembool townspeople. The Rockbells soon said their goodbyes and left to find their designated spots. Winry gave the brothers a warm smile as she walked away; Ed tried to pretend to not see the worried look in her eyes.

He and Al began walking through the crowd toward the section designated for the male tribute candidates. The section was further separated by age group, with those in their first year at the Reaping in front while the oldest were stationed near the back. "Let's just get this over with," Ed muttered as they came to Al's age group.

"Then we'll 'get back to what really matters,' right, Brother?" Al said with a ghost of a smile in his voice, quoting what Ed always said when something got in the way of the search to get their bodies back.

Ed gave his brother a genuine, sly smile. "'Course," he said, giving Al's arm a light punch. "Hell, maybe I can even get Winry to bake me one of her apple pies tonight. I think I earned it after that tune-up, huh?" He flexed his automail arm, which was hidden under his old dress shirt and his usual glove.

The mood between them sobered quickly as the last few citizens filed in. "I—I guess I should go now," Al said.

"See you later, Al…"

Al gave a stiff nod and shuffled into his spot.

Ed headed for his own section just as the spotlights on stage came to life. The town square buzzed with heat and excitement as the cameras and lights turned on, projecting the tiny backwater town to the outside world.

There were already three figures situated on the stage. Ed recognized them all immediately from attending past Reapings. There was the mayor, seated near the back of the stage. Beside him was a man with dark hair dressed in a pressed blue military uniform, and looking up at the overcast sky with a peevish look, as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Ed knew the man as Roy Mustang, commonly referred to as the Hero of Ishval because of his major role in the extermination of Ishval a few years back. Ed also knew had Resembool had a victor, they would be seated next to the man. But until then Mustang would be the mentor to the two unfortunate souls that were sent to the games. Why a war hero so accomplished as Mustang would ever take a job such as that, Ed had no idea.

Probably trying to climb his way to the top, Ed scoffed to himself with an eye roll. That's how all those military dogs were.

Standing in the center of the stage was Resembool's escort, a woman sent from Center every year to host the town's Reaping and sequentially guide the two chosen tributes through Central until their departure into the inevitable games.

Riza Hawkeye was back again this year to do the honors. Her long blonde hair was down, brushing against the back of her high neck dress, which matched the blue of the military uniforms. Probably some Central fashion trend, Ed guessed.

She stepped up to the podium, poised as ever, and began to speak in to the lone microphone situated on stage, greeting the town to yet another 'exciting year of the Alchemist Games."

As she spoke, Ed's mind began to wonder. It was the same droning speech every year, explaining the reason behind the Alchemist Games.

It all began when the country of Ishval had been annex by Amestris, near the eastern sector of the country. Tensions ran high as Amestrian soldiers were sent in to occupy the land. Then thirteen years ago, a soldier accidentally shot and killed an Ishvalan child. Riots and violent protests broke out immediately and soon developed into a full-on civil war. The fighting was violent; the Ishvalans were clearly outnumbered but they continued fighting, and soon the war had affected almost the entire eastern part of Amestris.

It wasn't until seven years of war had gone on that that the current president, King Bradley, issued Order 3066, which sent Amestrian state alchemist on to the battlefield to act as human weapons. Ishval didn't stand a chance against the alchemists and soon the war was brought to a bloody end.

Ed had never paid much attention to the conflict in its later years; he and Al had been too preoccupied with learning the secrets of human transmutation in order to bring their mother back to give the war any mind. He remembered when his town had been under attack, he recalled the day he read about Order 3066 in the newspaper, and he couldn't forget the day they had found out Winry's parents had been killed in the conflict.

Now Ed wished he had paid more attention. It was that conflict that brought about the Alchemist Games after the war ended. It was a warning, to the rest of the country, to what was left of the Ishvalans, to never try to fight back again. It was a way to show that the government still had control over its citizens; to strike fear into the people to make they would continue to behave.

"And now, to choose the male tribute," Hawkeye said on stage, pulling Ed from his musings and making him realize he had missed the mandatory salute to Amestris after the speech had come to a close.

Ed's eyes went to the two large glass spheres situated on stands as Riza Hawkeye walked over to the one on the left, reaching her hand in and procuring a slip of paper after a moment.

Ed's eyes focused on the slip in her hand; inside that crystal ball was his name, written on several sheets of paper; it was mandatory to have one slip added for every year a person was eligible. Ed knew he only had four slips of paper inside that glass container, the very minimum for someone his age, but he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that this might be the year one of those slips ended up in the escort's hand.

Some of the less fortunate had the opportunity to add their name additional times in exchange for food or other necessary provisions. He, Al and Winry had never had to do that thankfully; like Ed would ever allow his brother to ever add his name more times than necessary.

The Rockbells were fairly well off, and they cared for the Elrics well. Winry and Pinako ran an automail shop in their home, just as their family had done for generations. There was never a shortage of people coming to them for automail fittings after the war had come to an end and devastated the whole eastern side. In that aspect the war had actually helped them live.

As fifteen year olds, Ed and Winry were lucky to only have a few slips of paper each in those giant bowls; Al had even less. Honestly, Ed told himself, the chances were one in thousands that the name called would be his or Winry's or—

"Alphonse Elric."

* * *

There had been a moment on _that wretched day_ just after Ed had come back from the Portal, when he had found himself back on the floor of his father's study. In that moment Ed had seen in the dying glow of the failed transmutation Alphonse's clothes lying empty on the ground and Alphonse nowhere in sight. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds at most before Ed propelled himself into action and forced himself to think of a way out of it, but in that moment Ed had never felt so completely and utterly helpless.

He could feel himself being smothered by the feeling; almost like he was being drowned and just couldn't quite break through to the surface. Ed swore he would never let himself feel that way ever again as he forced himself to crawl on the floor toward that empty armor. He would never let Alphonse get away from him again.

But Ed could feel his grip on his brother slipping once again; he could feel himself beginning to drown in that all too familiar helplessness.

And that was enough. Ed slammed back into reality with a force hard enough to knock the wind out of him but he still had enough air in his lungs to shout out, "I volunteer!"

The words ripped from Edward's throat without a thought. It didn't even sound like his own voice. Someone was certainly shouting now; some crazy kid was trying to volunteer in a voice so desperate and stricken with fear. Surely a voice like that could never belong to someone as strong as Edward Elric.

But Ed continued to shout in a voice that definitely wasn't his own. That was his little brother they wanted and if they took Al, Ed would have nothing left, he would have no reason for anything.

"I volunteer as tribute!" he screamed again and again afraid they wouldn't hear his hopeless pleas and they would take Alphonse and then he would just be _gone_. "Take me! I volunteer!" Ed elbowed his way through the crowd, flesh handing waving in the air, trying to make sure he was seen, making sure Central _knew_ which brother to take.

Then another voice registered through his frantic mind; there was a hand on his elbow, another on his shoulder, and Ed crashed to a sudden halt. "Ed, stop—"

Ed whipped his head around to find whoever _dared_ to try and stop him from protecting Alphonse only to find Alphonse himself. Ed realized he must have made it past the section of fourteen year olds and had rushed right past his brother on his way up to the stage.

"Brother, don't. You're causing a scene."

Al's armor had never seemed so towering and imposing as he tried to restrain his brother. But even so, he couldn't help the slight tremor of his armor or the blatantly terrified shake in his otherwise steely voice. Ed turned on his brother suddenly. "I don't care! Let them look! They're not taking you and to hell with anyone who thinks they are!"

"_Ed!" _Alphonse looked up quickly. It seemed the entire town now had their eyes on the two peculiar brothers, watching as this new development unfolded at the Reaping. Certainly the cameras were on them as well. This was not the time or place to be spewing hate for Central or any of its citizens, which was something Edward always had a knack for doing, even before either of the Elrics became eligible to participate in the Alchemist Games.

Edward begrudgingly followed his brother's gaze. The entire crowd had fallen silent and all eyes were on them. Even the officials on stage were watching them with varying levels of curiosity.

Roy Mustang had leveled them an intense gaze that almost made Ed shudder. Riza Hawkeye's gaze was much milder as she stared, however her cocked eyebrow made it obvious she was just as curious, or maybe confused, as to what was going on before her.

"Do we have a volunteer?" she asked into the microphone after a beat of dreadfully tense silence.

Al was quick to speak. "No—"

Ed freed himself and pushed Al behind his outstretched arm, trying to protect his younger brother even if he barely came to Al's chest. "Yes." He shot Alphonse a warning look over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't argue further before turning back to the podium and calmly proclaiming loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I volunteer as tribute."

There were a few hushed gasped throughout the crowd but Ed ignored them as he turned back to Alphonse.

"Brother…" he said much more quietly now. His voice was pleading but Ed could hear the resignation in his voice; he and Al both knew there was no changing Ed's mind now. If Al had possessed an actual body he would have been on the verge of tears now. "Brother, you can't—"

"It'll be okay, Al," Ed reassured. He tried to act nonchalant with a shrug and a slight smile. "I'd rather it be me than you. You need to get your body back. I know we always said we'd get them back together, but I'm sorry."

"Besides," Ed added after a pause. He bit as his lip before continuing. "There's no way you'd be able to go through with this without explaining what happened to your body. That might lead to more trouble than we can handle."

"_This_ is more than_ I_ can handle, Brother!"

Ed grimaced. "I'm sorry. We don't have a choice—"

"Yes, we do. Let me go instead. I-I might have a chance at winning. I can't let you go in my place, Brother…"

"Is one of you coming?" Riza Hawkeye asked from stage; her voice was booming in the silence that had fallen.

Alphonse jumped slightly.

"Yes," Edward answered loudly, trying to steel his voice. He lightly tapped his automail hand to his brother's chest plate. As the echo of the metal quietly died down Ed forced a smile. "I'll see you later, okay?" He turned but a hand caught his elbow.

"P-promise me you'll come back." Al's voice was soft, pleading but his tight grip left no room for Ed to argue.

Ed gave that soft smile he reserved only for his brother. "Sure, Al," he promised. Some of the tension left Al's shoulders. Ed was not one to ever break a promise, especially not one to Al. "You can't get rid of me this easily."

Ed gently disengaged from his brother's grip and began striding toward the awaiting stage.

Al made a quiet noise and Edward heard him take a hesitant step forward before quieting. It took all of Ed's willpower not to look back, but to keep his eyes ahead and keep moving forward.

On stage, Hawkeye cleared her throat. "Well," she began. "This is a new development. I believe this is our first ever volunteer from this region."

Ed's footfalls as he walked up the creaky wooden steps of the stage were the only noises that sounded throughout the square. At least the town had the good grace to not applaud. A boy being sent off to almost certain death in the name of protecting his only family in no way warranted acclamation of any kind. Ed was grateful for their silence, no matter how pressing it felt.

"And what is your name?" Hawkeye asked as he came to a stop next to her. There was something in her eyes as she watched him; pity or maybe dismay. It was a look he didn't expect from a Central citizen, someone who condoned these sorts of games.

Ed tried not to take note of the way Hawkeye lowered the microphone for him to speak. "E-Edward Elric."

Hawkeye took the mic back. "And I suppose that was your brother you volunteered for, the one in the armor, correct?"

Ed nodded, and there was that same sad look again as she spoke again. "Well, good luck, Edward."

Ed wasn't even listening; his eyes were scanning the still silent crowd. Most years there was a bit of forced applause, encouraged clapping as the citizens hoped maybe this year maybe one of their tributes would come back.

But something was different today, and Ed couldn't help but feel he had started it.

Sending two children to their death every year was unforgivable, but separating the Elric brothers like this was unheard of.

It was a small town and _everyone_ as least knew of the brothers. They had heard the rumors. How the boys' father had left almost ten years ago only to have their mother die not even a year later. The boys were very withdrawn from the rest of the townsfolk, except for the neighbors they stayed with. And around the time their house had burned down a few years back, the boys were rarely even seen by the prying eye of the public. The pity throughout the square was almost tangible to Ed, even up there under the burning spotlights on the stage.

Oh, and if they knew the whole story, Ed thought. If only they knew how many years he and Al had spent studying human transmutation in a desperate attempt to see their mother's smile once again. How the transmutation failed, causing Ed to lose a leg and Al his whole body. How Ed gave up an arm and only saved his brother's soul by putting him in that armor. Or how their house burning down had been no accident; but a symbol of their resolve, a promise to themselves that they wouldn't turn back until their bodies were restored. That house had felt haunted since the day the transmutation failed anyway.

Oh, if only they knew, he thought, there might just be a damn riot right there in the square. Hell, Ed would be at the head of that without a thought.

Seeing that the Reaping wasn't going quite as Central always intended, Hawkeye quickly spoke. "And now for the girls." Her hasty voice echoed loudly as she moved over to the other glass container and pulled out the first slip of paper her fingers contacted.

Ed barely had time to sweep his eyes over the crowd of girls, trying to find that familiar blonde head of hair, and hoping they had enough luck between them that Winry wouldn't be called.

But considering Ed's life so far maybe he didn't have any luck at all. Maybe he ran out of luck the moment he bound Al's soul to that armor or maybe it had left the day his father stepped out of their home for the last time.

Maybe some people were just destined to have hard lives.

Because now Hawkeye was at the microphone and the paper was unfolded and she read the name and the words that had always reminded Ed of safety and home and everything pure left in his life now only filled him with dread as they ran throughout the square and rang inside his head.

_Winry Rockbell. _


	2. Chapter 2

_No. _

Ed's eyes furiously scanned the square and immediately locked on Al—his armor was the easiest thing to spot amongst the crowd. Al's head was turned, his eyes having already found Winry. Ed's head swiveled, following Al's gaze to the female section where Winry stood among the other fifteen year olds, all of which had taken a step away from Winry as if she had sudden contracted the plague and looked at her like she was already dead.

_Anyone but her._

Ed quickly scanned the crowd, looking—hoping—for someone to volunteer. But no, that was a ridiculous notion—volunteering was the rash thing to do, Ed realized that now.

Winry was fairly far away, tucked into the middle of the crowd, but Ed could see her as she snapped out of some sort of trance, and she began making her way slowly but deliberately to the stage.

Winry climbed the stairs steadily, and spoke her name when asked with more strength than Ed had possessed.

She then took her place next to Ed as Riza Hawkeye spoke into the microphone once more. "Now, tributes, please shake hands."

The two teens turned and faced each other. Ed found it hard to look Winry in the eye now but he fought back the urge to actually look away. It was hard to know the girl that Ed had grown up with, the girl that had always been there no matter what, the girl that had gotten him back on his feet was now facing almost certain death, and there was little he could do about it.

The look on Winry's face now was one Ed had seen before. It was the look that had been on her young face the day those men in blue came to their house to announce her parents' death, and it was the same look she gave Ed when he woke up after the transmutation had failed; it was a look of utter hopelessness that Ed knew well, it was a look that said maybe this time things wouldn't get better.

It was a look that didn't belong on Winry Rockbell's face, but had been there far too many times. And just like all those times before, Ed felt he could do nothing but watch uselessly.

But still, Winry held a certain sort of deep, inner strength as she held out her hand, which was only noticeably shaking now that she was so close.

Ed took it firmly in his flesh hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they shook.

Hawkeye gave a firm nod before turning back to the crowded square. "Happy Alchemist Games. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

The crowd began to give an applause that was blatantly forced before the country's anthem drowned them out, and the two tributes were ushered off the stage before Edward even had time to catch his breath.

* * *

_"Brother!"_ The door was thrown open, and Ed was suddenly swept up in a tight embrace. Normally he would have been embarrassed or tried to nonchalantly shrug off the affection but this time Ed leaned into the cold metal of his brother's armor. He hugged his brother's middle tightly even if Al couldn't feel it; it brought a comfort to both of them. A string of apologies and excuses got stuck behind the lump that was forming in Ed's throat, so he stood with Al in a silence that lasted for an eternity but also seemed to end much too soon.

They only had four minutes to say their final goodbyes, and Al must have sensed their time was slowly running out because he drew away from Ed. Before Ed could say anything Al reeled back and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Hey what was tha—"

"You're such an idiot! Why would you do something as stupid as volunteering?"

"Like I had a choice!" Ed spat back, rubbing his shoulder where a bruise was definitely forming. The punch wasn't as hard as some of the other ones Al had dealt over the years; his brother must've been taking pity on his circumstance. "I already told you, you still have a chance to get your body back."

The fight seemed to leave Alphonse suddenly, and Ed wondered if Al was even listening. He sat down heavily onto the couch, making the seat groan under the sudden weight of the armor. "This is so unfair," Al said, voicing what Ed had been thinking this entire time. The despair was clear in his voice.

Ed sat down quietly next to his brother, resting his elbows on his knees, and they sat in another sad silence for a moment. "I'm still not giving up, Al," Ed finally stated. "Neither is Winry. There's still a chance one of us might come home."

"I know! I know…but is it wrong to hope that somehow both of you will come home again?"

Ed looked down at the plush carpet underneath his uncomfortable dress shoes. "Not at all."

He could feel the time ticking by as they sat there not saying anything else. Ed felt he had to say something; he couldn't just leave Al feeling so ill at ease.

"Ah…" he tried, looking up at his brother's helmet. Ed cleared his throat of the sudden emotion welling up and tried again. "Al…you know, I'm going to do everything I can to keep both me and Winry alive…but if it comes down to it, I'm going to try to protect her first."

Alphonse remained silent but Ed saw him nod slightly in acknowledgement and his face stayed staring down at the floor.

Ed clenched the fist resting on his thigh; he heard the metal of his automail groan in protest. "But…if anything does happen to her, I'm going to do everything in my power to win."

"I know," Al whispered, his voice breaking on the second syllable. "You can do it, Brother. You know how to fight—you're the best alchemist I know. You have a chance…you have to at least try."

Ed rubbed at his temple. "I will," he promised. He realized that was probably the first promise he didn't intend to keep. Edward knew had circumstances been different, he would have fought tooth and nail to make it back home. But this was different; he had Winry to protect. Sure, Winry was strong-willed and clever, but she didn't know how to fight—not like Ed did. Ed felt it was his duty now to make sure she was the one to make it; he wasn't sure he'd be able to go back home and live with himself if anything happened to her. Ed had resigned himself to this already. Really, he knew he was dead from the moment they called her name.

* * *

The train platform was swarming with camera crews when Ed was brought to the station not much later in order to reunite with Winry and begin their journey to Central.

Ed was exhausted still from saying goodbye to his brother. He contemplated quickly using some alchemy to put up a wall between him and the prying eyes of the cameras but in the end rejected the brash idea. He didn't want to disappoint Al this early on.

Winry was on the other end of the platform. She was wearing a light blue dress that must have been her mother's; the skirt of it blew slightly in a passing wind. She looked dressed for a summer picnic or a night out, but her face gave away what was truly happening.

Her cheeks were marred with tear tracks from saying goodbye to her grandmother as well as Al, who had visited her after seeing his brother, just as Pinako had visited Ed. Even now Winry's eyes were still glassy though there was no threat of tears at the moment. She was frowning stoically, trying to put on a strong face now that the public was watching once more.

She and Ed were ushered quickly onto the awaiting Central train, and the doors shut firmly behind them. Their world was suddenly submerged into silence as the outside world was closed out; they were the only ones in the train car, though it seemed more like they were the only two left in the world.

Winry let out a suppressed and strangled breath. Ed looked at her sadly with a deep frown as she stared down at the floor and bit at her shaking lip; Ed knew he was trembling slightly from all the emotion the day had brought too.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, if not a bit uncomfortably.

Winry shook her head. "No," she admitted as fresh tears began to run down her pink cheeks. She brought her hands up to cover her face and began crying into them.

She didn't need to explain herself further; Ed understood even if he didn't say it. Not knowing what else to do—he had never been good at comforting people—he placed his left hand gently on the top her head, hoping it might bring some comfort. He touched his temple to hers, and they stayed that way for a long time. They stayed that way as the train took off and glided smoothly out of the station, leaving Resembool for the last time, and Ed hoped maybe Winry would understand that she wasn't alone.

* * *

Dinner was quiet and uncomfortable. Winry had finally stopped crying and she and Ed had gone to their separate quarters to freshen up and get their bearings before they were both called to the dining car to eat.

Ed noticed as he concernedly side-eyed her that her eyes were still rather red and bloodshot as she desolately picked at her food with a fork.

The dining car had been in a silence too stiff for Ed's liking as he ate. The food itself was delicious. Definitely the finest he had ever tasted. He wondered if every Central citizen ate like this every day. Well, he might as well milk those lucky bastards for all they were worth while he still could, he thought as he stuffed another forkful in his mouth.

Ed leaned over closer to Winry after a pause. "You know, this food is delicious, you should give it a try," he mumbled around his pasta.

Winry shrugged and looked up at him. "I'm not all that hungry right now, Ed."

Ed frowned. "You have to eat. Especially considering…"

She just shook her head. "Maybe later, okay?"

Ed settled back down in his seat glumly. He sat quietly after that, not caring to try to make conversation with any of the table's occupants, and instead opted to listen to his mentor and escort talk while they ate.

The two seemed to know each other well, probably from spending so much time together with other tributes over the past few years. As the first course was set down at the table by silent servants, Mustang had turned to Riza Hawkeye. He cleared his throat quietly as if to make sure she was aware of his presence then cautiously asked, "So, how have you been?"

Hawkeye gave a small smile, the features of her face softening as she looked up at him. "I'm alright. What about yourself?"

Mustang chuckled lightly. "Can't complain," he shrugged, eyebrows raised.

They carried on a conversation for the rest of the meal; the dialogue was amiable but also restrained. They remained on topics like happenings in Central, new laws being put into effect, never anything too personal. Though it made sense; Ed had a good feeling there was cameras situated all throughout this train so Central could keep an eye on their tributes.

As dessert was being served—some sort of chocolate raspberry torte—Ed was growing tired of the uninteresting conversation and was growing sleepy as the food settled in his stomach. He took a stab at his dessert even though he knew he couldn't eat another bite.

He waved his torte covered fork in the air for a moment then leaned his elbows on the table. He gave Roy a pointed look as there was a lull in the adults' conversation, then asked, "So you're our mentor, right? Shouldn't you be giving us advice or something now?"

Mustang looked at Ed as if he had forgotten he was there, or was maybe trying to forget. He frowned deeply like he was finally remembering the real reason they were there. Mustang's gaze grew serious and it seemed to Ed that he was looking at him with pity, or hopelessness, as if he saw in Ed all the other tributes he had mentored over the years that had never made it back out.

Ed expected the man to say something helpful after that. This wasn't Mustang's first year; he knew what Ed and Winry would have to do to ensure one of their survivals. Mustang was a war hero too; surely he knew how to win.

But the man blinked after a second and the serious look left his eyes. "Well, here's some advice that seemed to help all the other victors," he said with an ironic smile, tipping his half empty glass up to Ed, "don't die."

* * *

**[A/N: This chapter's a lot shorter than the first one, though I think I like this length better, especially since there were quite a few different scene and I think making it longer would just get a bit over-whelming, you know?**

**Also I was eating a chocolate raspberry torte when I wrote that part lol**

**Hope you all enjoyed and see you next chapter!]**


	3. Chapter 3

Edward was alert the moment he awoke; it wasn't the wisps of an already fading nightmare that sent him into sudden consciousness nor was it the soft rocking of the floor that vibrated his bed and reminded Ed that he was not home. After a moment Ed recalled that there had been a knock at the door, and a call of "Edward?" shortly followed. "It's time for breakfast," said the voice, which, after a moment of assessment, Ed decided belonged to Riza Hawkeye.

He grunted out a sleepy reply into his pillow. She must have left after a moment because there was silence once more, only disturbed by the clacking of the train's wheels rolling across the tracks. Ed pushed himself up, quickly stretching his stiff limbs before throwing on clothes from his compartment's dresser, and lazily braiding his hair back before shuffling out his door and down to the dining car.

Food sounded good.

The rest of his companions were already seated around the table by the time Ed arrived, unceremoniously plopping down in the chair next to Winry. The air in the room was thick, smelling distinctly of something sweet and sticky.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Roy Mustang noted with a wry smile and barely a glance in Ed's direction.

The deep mahogany table was decorated with shining silverware, clean white plates and crisp napkins. The center was dominated by a woven basket piled high with a mountain of fresh fruit, and surrounding it were platters covered with almost every breakfast food Edward could name and several he couldn't.

"Wish I could say the same about you," Ed muttered, copying the man's aloof gaze.

The main portion was set down as soon as Edward situated himself. A plump sweet roll drizzled with glazed strawberries and some sort of thick icing, which attributed to the sweet smell warming the air of the compartment.

Roy Mustang's face fell as he glared at Ed through the arms of the server's placing down their food. His frown was pointed, his brow drawn in. "Are you always so brazen with people you've just met? You do know I am your lifeline once you enter those games. Might do you some good to try being nice to me."

Winry lightly slapped Ed on the shoulder. "He's right, Ed," she chided.

To Ed's slight annoyance, it seemed Winry's usual verve had returned. Though there was something off about her, something simmering just under her exterior. Like a tiger crouched, waiting to attack; like she wouldn't trust anyone knowing her ultimate destination would end at the games, and she was on guard now that they were out of familiar territory.

At that thought, Edward's eyes flickered to the window that took up most of the opposite wall. Sure enough, all traces of farmland or anything familiar were long gone, replaced by a blur of green as they passed through a thick grove of trees. Central couldn't be that far off by now.

Winry turned to Roy then, looking up expectantly and asked, "So you're our mentor. What does that mean?"

Mustang leveled her a calculated look, seriously contemplating the answer before he began in his deep voice. "I'm the one assigned to prepare you both for the games. I'll be with you every step of the way during your training and be there to give you advice. Once you two are in the games, it is my responsibility to help get you sponsors that will help with your survival. In short, it is my duty to ensure one of you wins."

"And you did so well with that in the past years," Edward muttered before stuffing half the sweet roll in his mouth.

Mustang's eyebrow twitched as he glanced at the boy, his frown somehow deepening further. "Oh, what's this? Did I actually get a fighter for a tribute this year?" The guarded look was suddenly gone, replaced with a look of superiority, Mustang's eyebrows raising and eyelids flickering shut. The mentor smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't have guessed that considering your small stature."

Edward was up in an instant, yelling in the man's face as he leaned over the table.

Riza Hawkeye suddenly made her quiet presence known, throwing Ed a sharp gaze and moving to protect Mustang from the raging boy. Before she could do anything, the initial look of shock upon Roy's face hardened into a look of grim curiosity.

"You have automail?" he asked in a calm voice, cutting right through Edward's shouting.

Ed halted, stuttering to a stop. His face flushed slightly, as if remembering himself, and he unconsciously raised his left hand to grip his right bicep. He had forgotten his gloves on his bedside table; though it wasn't like he could hide the truth from these people forever. He straightened up slightly. "Uh-yeah." He hesitated for a moment. "It happened during the Eastern Rebellion…" Ed glanced over at Winry, who was grimly looking down at her plate as he told the lie.

Mustang stared at him for an uncomfortably long second, scrutinizing Ed's face and automail hand, which peeked out under his long-sleeved shirt. "So that got you too, huh, kid?" He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes after a moment. "Sit down, Edward, I didn't mean to get you all riled up. We need to talk about strategies."

Ed felt down and took a seat, his eyes never straying from his mentor.

Mustang opened his eyes after a moment, and studied Ed and Winry. Hawkeye watched him curiously as he made his assessment. "Do either of you have any special skills?"

"Ed's an alchemist," Winry was quick to say, waving a finger matter-of-factly at Ed.

Mustang's eyebrows rose beneath his untidy black hair. "Really?" he said, sounding impressed.

Ed turned on Winry. "You're not supposed to talk about _my_ skills."

"Well, what skills do I have to talk about?" she shot back with a hint of desperation. "I'm not going to be throwing wrenches at the other tributes!"

"Well, why not? You do it to me all the time—"

"So you're not an alchemist?" Mustang turned to Winry.

"No, I—"

"She's not," Ed answered at the same time. He spoke up again, not realizing the anger that seemed to have been simmering in his gut. "Winry shouldn't even have to be here. These are the _Alchemist_ Games, right? It's not fair pinning ordinary people against alchemists like this."

"Not all the tributes are alchemists," Winry noted.

"She's right. The games were named that to honor the state alchemists who helped during the Ishval conflict, the event that caused these games to happen," Mustang added, voice reserved. He turned to Winry once again. "Can you do anything that might help you during the games?"

"She's strong," Ed answered, taking the chance just as Winry had with him. "And she's good with machines."

Winry nodded shyly at the praise. "I'm Ed's mechanic."

"You're his automail engineer? So you two are fairly close, huh?" Mustang glanced between the two as they meekly nodded, blushing slightly as they looked at each other with twin frowns. Roy Mustang smiled as though he didn't see their dispositions. His knowing smirk had returned as he leaned back in his chair. "That's something we might be able to work with."

* * *

Central was a vast city located directly in the center of the country. The blocky, white buildings were large and grandiose, reaching farther into the sky than any of the squat, old buildings in Resembool.

At least, that's how they seemed from the view Edward had as he stared out the picture window to the city below him, arms crossed over his bare chest.

The street below was speckled with Central citizens laughing and drinking and rejoicing in other festivities. It seemed the entire city was out celebrating the arrival of this year's tributes. At least, it had seemed like the entire city was out there from what Ed had seen between the time departing from the train and being ushered into the Remake Center where he now resided.

Once inside Ed had been stripped of his clothes and thrust into an awaiting bath. His skin still felt pink and raw from scrubbing off "all the country air," and his hair smelt like a bouquet of flowers as it rested in a silky, shining golden curtain over his shoulders. Apparently the three assigned to help him during this process had wanted Ed to be spotless for when he met his stylist.

His prep team had positively gone crazy once they caught sight of his metal arm and leg, saying how excited Ed's stylist would be to see his limbs. Apparently automail was a rare sight to those living in Central; the citizens hadn't been affected the way the East had been during the Ishvalan War. There was less of a reason for automail in this city than there was back home. Ed tried to think of another tribute from the past games who had sported automail but came up with nothing as his prep team made their final comments before finally leaving Ed alone in his boxers while he waited to meet his stylist.

He had still been staring down at the troves of people partying in the streets, musing about how Al would chide him for standing in front of a window with barely any clothes on, when the door gently opened then closed once again.

Ed glanced up and turned to the door to find a young woman standing there with her hands on her hips, a lopsided grin on her face and an eager look in her eyes. "You must be Edward," she stated, looking at him like he was her next challenge to tackle. She seemed to be fairly young to be working at such a desired position. She wore a tank top that hugged her thin, muscular frame and baggy pants tied at the waste. Her skin was dark and her hair was pulled back away from her face.

"You must be my stylist," Ed said with a touch of cynicism in his voice. Although this young woman wasn't at all what Edward had been excepting when he had first been briefed on receiving his own personal stylist. He was expecting a Central citizen, poised and snobbish, looking down on him either for being born in an outlying town, or because he was nothing more than a pawn in their games. Surely, the stylists were only here to make the tributes look pretty before sending them off to be slaughtered.

The girl nodded firmly and closed the distance between them. "Nice automail," she remarked, folding her bare arms over her chest.

Ed's hand went up to touch the cold exterior of his right arm, suddenly over aware of how barely clad he was. "That's what everyone here keeps telling me."

"Don't pay any attention to them," she said, carelessly flopping back down on a nearby couch and inviting Ed to do the same. "They're just not used to seeing automail around these parts," she explained knowingly.

Ed sat on the edge of a plush chair. "And you have?" he asked, noting her tone.

"Glad you asked," she smirked. Falling back against the couch's back she lifted her legs up, wedging her boots onto the coffee table's edge, and pulled up her pants legs to reveal shining silver where brown skin should have been. "We're not so different, huh, Ed?" she said wryly, eyeing the look of surprise upon the boy's face. "Name's Paninya by the way."

Edward blinked, then looked up at his stylist's face. "But I didn't think automail was common in Central."

"It's not really," Paninya said with a shrug, leaning her elbows against her knees. "Though I'm not from around here."

"You're not?"

"I'm originally from Rush Valley," she explained. The holy land of automail, as it was called. Ed only knew about it from Winry, who fawned over the town from afar and always talked about how she dreamed of going there if only people were allowed to travel outside of their own towns. "Took a lot of but I was finally able to sneak my way into Central. Got a job and was able to work my way up. People working for the games don't seem to stick around for very long so I guess I was pretty lucky. It's only my first year doing this though. But hopefully soon I'll be getting paid well enough and Mr. Dominic will _finally_ let me pay what I owe him."

"He's my mechanic," she elaborated when Ed gave her a quizzical look. "But enough about me," she stated, pushing herself up. "The opening ceremonies are tonight. We need to get you ready."

"Do you have anything in mind?" Ed asked from his seat. Though he wasn't fond of the idea of being paraded around for the people who were sending him to his death, Ed had to admit he was growing curious, especially now, knowing his stylist.

Paninya turned to him with a grin. "I and my partner Garfiel, who's with the other tribute from your town, have come up with a few ideas. Seeing as we both have an interest in automail, we decided that would be the best way to go. Lucky for us, now we're got you as a tribute."

"Yeah, lucky me," Ed muttered with an eye roll, though he couldn't help a small smile from his face. He could only imagine Winry's reaction would be.

* * *

The roar of the awaiting crowd was booming overhead. Their cheers sounded like thunder, and made the walls tremble and the air bubble with excitement. The screams and shouts were loud but muffled from where Ed stood in the vast basement where all the tributes and their chariots were waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Everyone stood at their respective chariots, which were all equally far away from each other. Even the tributes from the same towns seemed to be having difficulty conversing with one another.

The thunderous applause and cheering was drowned out by a high-pitched wail of glee. Ed turned around to find the source of the shriek to see Winry running over to him. The others turned to watch as Winry passed Edward, hands rubbing against the metal edge of their chariot.

"Edward!" she squeaked, finally turning to face him. "Look at this workmanship!" Her fingers trailed over the glistening silver of the sides, the ornaments decorating the outside and the bolts that held it all together. Her voice grew higher and her words quicker. "Such detail. The precision put into the measurements and the outer casing—is that a zinc based. _Ooh _if only I had my wrench I would love to take it apart!"

"Fraid you can't do that."

Ed and Winry both turned to find their stylists approaching. Winry let out another small squeal, taking Paninya by the hands. "You must be Ed's stylist," she said, her voice not losing an ounce of its former enthusiasm. "Mr. Garfiel told me all about you and how it was your idea to use automail as our theme and is it _true_ you have _two_ automail legs?"

"Uh," Paninya chuckled awkwardly, trying to pull her hands back.

She was interrupted from explaining further as a voice boomed overhead, telling the tributes to prepare to exit.

Ed stepped up first onto the three-sided chariot and offered his hand out to Winry as she eagerly stepped in as well.

Winry began to say something else but her voice was drowned out by the anthem, which was suddenly blasted through hidden speakers. The doors to the vast room opened inward and evening light filtered in. The first chariot took off, shortly followed by the next.

The crowd just outside exploded with a chorus of cheers as the first chariot made its way up the short ramp and entered under the eyes of the Central citizens.

Ed and Winry both faltered backwards as their chariot began forward, pulled by a row of large stallions. Winry grabbed onto Ed's hand to steady herself.

"Sorry," she said after a moment, her voice barely audible with the crowd approaching.

Ed didn't answer because suddenly the light was in his eyes. He blinked up into the setting sun and once his vision finally cleared, all he could see were the faces of thousands of cheering fans, all applauding at his entrance. They were shouting his and Winry's names. _They actually knew his name. _

The tributes were being showered with flowers and confetti and Edward watched as they glided forward on their silver chariot and flower pedals rained down around him. It was almost surreal.

Somewhere above an announcer gushed over this year's tributes, going into detail about each one as they all passed, making their way to the fuhrer's estate. Each chariot stopped one after another before the estate, where Fuhrer Bradley stood, poised and stoic as ever, on a stage for the whole world to see.

Their chariot finally came to a jerky stop. Now that the cheering had died down and the initial galore was gone and the sun had finally set behind the buildings of Central, Ed realized Winry was still clutching onto his automail hand, which was hidden at the moment by a thick glove.

When Ed had inquired about why he would hide his automail, his stylist had just given him a mischievous smirk and told him he had to wait for the right opportunity, and the opening ceremonies wasn't it.

Ed hadn't argued further; he had no interest in showing off his metal limbs on a regular basis, showing them off to the world was something he didn't mind putting off, no matter how inevitable it was.

He glanced at Winry, whose blue eyes were focused as King Bradley began to make his speech, welcoming the tributes and commemorating them on their bravery. She was dressed in an outfit similar to Ed's own.

They were both suited in shining silver armor. Alphonse had come to Ed's mind the moment he had first seen the outfit, and even now as he looked at Winry in the darkening light of the evening sky. Ed wondered briefly what his brother would think of all this.

The matching gauntlets and boots they wore mimicked the look of automail limbs. Ed realized in the setting sun their polished costumes must have looked dazzling. No wonder the crowd was roaring.

Winry wore a silver skirt as well with a silver cape that matched Ed's flowing down to her boots, which looked striking against her pale skin and her light hair trailing down her back. She looked, for all the world, like a gladiator. Like she was ready for battle and prepared to fight.

* * *

**[A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! Hope the somewhat longer chapter made up for it a bit ^v^**

**Also Paninya and Garfiel as stylists, yay or nay? I changed my mind about the stylists _a lot_. Personally I like what I decided since Ed's automail will have a fairly big part in the story the way Katniss' "flames" did, so I figured the guys from Rush Valley would work well, even if Paninya isn't actually a mechanic.**

**A few other things I would love to have you guys' input on: should I include the Avoxes? More so, would you guys be devastated if I left them out? I would love to incorporate them since I found them fascinating in the book, but I'm having trouble coming up with a reason for the Avoxes, how they would impact the plot and just _who_ would be the Avoxes, ya know?**

**Secondly, what do you guys think, should Winry join the "Career" tributes at the start of the games the way Peeta did? I wasn't planning to, but I didn't know if you guys were looking forward to that since it happened in the real Hunger Games haha **

**So if you would like to state your opinion on these matters, or if there's something else about the story have an idea for, you can leave it in a review or send me an ask on tumblr**

**See ya next chapter!]**


	4. Chapter 4

The Training Center was the tallest building in the city of Central. Each pair of tributes, along with their teams, were assigned their own designated floor, where they would all be staying until the the Alchemist Games began.

After spending almost an hour struggling to figure out the controls of the shower in his personal quarters, Edward emerged to find breakfast already laid out on a variety of tables in his floor's dining area.

Roy Mustang and Winry were already seated, speaking amicably but with focus as they ate. After piling his plate with a heavy amount of caloric foods, Edward seated himself, and Mustang spent no time getting down to business.

His tone was different now as he leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on interlocked fingers. It was lighter, more inviting, but even so, there was a sort of seriousness to it that hadn't been present before. Almost as if Ed and Winry's shining debut at the opening ceremonies had proven to Roy he should take them both more seriously. Maybe he was finally believing for once that one of his tributes actually had a chance at winning, and he was investing in them now instead of training them in vain, hopelessly knowing they would most likely die just like all the others.

It had to be hard being a mentor. Year after year a new pair of tributes came along, and after training and working with them you could do nothing but watch them be slaughtered, believing you could have done something to advise them better. No wonder Mustang had been rather cold to them at first. Why get attached to someone you knew was going to die?

The thought was shaken from Edward's mind as Mustang spoke. "Today begins your three days of training before the start of the Games." He went on to describe what they would find in the training facility below the Center. The stations set up in the room ranged from plant identifying to fire starting and shelter building, to combat training such as spear or knife throwing, axe wielding and even beginner's alchemy. "At the end of the three days, you will show off your skills in front of the Gamemakers and from there you will each be given a score assessing what you are capable of. Miss Hawkeye is down in the city now, attempting to get you both some potential sponsors. But no one will be placing their bets until your personal scores are announced. So try your hardest in there."

"Additionally, I don't want either of you showing off whatever skills you do have during the next three days. There's no point in showing off your strengths to your opponents—save that for when you're being scored. In the meantime, try some new things. It would benefit you both to learn some more survival tips before going into the Games."

Ed and Winry both gave an affirmative nod.

Mustang turned slightly. He leaned his elbow against the table and side-eyed both his tributes. "While you are down there training, I want you two at each other's side at all times." He continued, "You two obviously know each other well—the citizens of Central will eat that up when they realize how tragic your situation is. I want you to play that up for all it's worth."

Ed scoffed loudly with an eye roll. He couldn't help but feel he would be exploiting his friendship with Winry and their long history just so the people of Central could gush over them. The thought of that sickened him, even if in the end it could save Winry's, or his, life. As Edward slumped lower into his chair, Winry spoke up. "So you don't want us to talk to any of the other tributes? Wouldn't it be good to form some friendships before the Games so we'll have less enemies?"

Mustang shrugged nonchalantly. "Trust me, no friendship lasts forever in the Games."

Winry glanced over at Edward, who was still staring glumly at the grain of the wooden table.

"When it comes down to it," Mustang said, "alliances with other tributes won't make a difference in those Games. In the end, there is still only one victor."

* * *

All twenty four tributes were briefed on what the Training Center had to offer. The instructor motioned around the room, pointing out each available station, and described what was to be expected of all the tributes throughout the next three days of training.

Ed barely heard anything the woman said; he was much too busy surveying the circle of tributes that stretched out around him and sizing up each adolescent. The other tributes seemed to have the same idea, and Ed caught more than one tribute's gaze; he stared back defiantly, silently challenging anyone that wanted to take him on while Winry stood next to him and avoided the gazes, trying not to make any enemies this early on. She kept her head high though and her chin squared with her eyes focused on the instructor while also trying to ignore the distracting stares of her opponents.

Almost all of the other tributes were taller than Ed. They were larger, some were more muscular. But Ed wasn't concerned. He was agile. He was nimble. His size could be useful as well. Ed was strong; he and Al spent much of their free time sparring in an attempt to train their bodies as much as their minds. Edward was not concerned about fighting any of these kids in hand-to-hand if it came to that.

Once the instructor concluded and sent the tributes on their way, Ed and Winry broke away from the dispersing group and began to move around the vast room, walking between the stations scattered throughout until they found one of interest.

The shelter building station had been easy for Ed—he knew he would have no trouble using his alchemy in order to form some sort of protection from the elements. Winry caught on quickly as well, using her skills as a mechanic to figure out how to fasten branches and other materials to form a shelter.

The poisonous plants station didn't go as smoothly. Neither Ed nor Winry knew any of the plants listed before them, any of which could possibly be in the arena. Had they been in the Games right then, they both would have ended up poisoned and dead. But the station proved to be very informative.

Starting a fire had also proved to be difficult, and was only possible when both Ed and Winry teamed up and were able to start a fire with the help of one another.

"I'm thinking now that jerk mentor of ours might be useful in the Games," Ed commented with a wry smile as he looked down at the small fire they had created on a pile of the small twigs available.

Winry looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"He was known as the Flame Alchemist during Ishval," Ed explained. "I'm just saying he might not be totally useless in the Games, at least when it came to making a fire."

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Winry mused, tapping her chin.

Wordlessly, they looked out across the rest of the training area. Tributes were scattered throughout the room, occupied by the many stations available. It seemed many were throwing weights or wielding weapons in an attempt to intimidate the opposition. However there were also many looking to learn survival techniques just as Ed and Winry were.

Ed noted that almost none of them had remained with their fellow tribute like he and Winry had; most of them were alone. Apparently having similar roots only went so far with these people. Just because they were from the same town wouldn't mean anything to most of the tributes here, and it definitely wouldn't mean anything once the Games began. Ed was just beginning to realize now how peculiar his and Winry's situation was from the rest of the Games' contenders.

* * *

It was on the second day when the two had blown through a good chunk of the stations together that they stumbled upon the knife-wielding station, and Ed got an idea.

"Hey." He grabbed Winry's elbow and pulled her to a stop as she almost walked right past it. "I think we should try this one out."

Winry paused, surveying the displayed weapons and the targets pinned up against the adjacent wall. Her mouth turned down and her eyebrows knit. "You want to learn how to throw knives?"

Ed shrugged. _"I_ don't want to. I think _you _should."

Winry reeled back slightly. "Me? And why do you think that?" she asked, sounding almost appalled at the thought.

"You can throw wrenches. With accuracy might I add," Ed said with a pout. "How different could a knife be? It might save your life in the Games."

Winry looked hesitant for a moment. She bit at her lip before sighing with defeat. "I suppose you're right, Ed," she said, stepping up to the station and taking one of the small, slender blades into her hands.

"Here, I'll do it with you," Ed offered, grabbing a matching knife.

Winry didn't seem to hear him though. She stood still, her back facing him, and her eyes were already focused on the target several yards away. Ed watched all the tension release from Winry's shoulders. Then she gripped the tip of the knife in her hand, lifted it high above her head and threw straight ahead with a force of strength Ed had grown to know well from years of having wrenches thrown in his direction.

There was a loud clap as the knife connected with the target. It dug right into the near center of the bull's-eye, embedded several centimeters into the wall.

As Ed walked up to her, he could see the shocked look across her face, almost as if she couldn't believe it. "I did it!" she said after a moment. Her expression turned from one of amazement to pride in the blink of any eye. Deviously, she looked at Ed with a smile and crossed her arms. "Guess I found my special skill."

* * *

The third day of training was cut short as the tributes were called one by one to display their skills to the Gamemakers. Several tributes had already been called by the time Ed's turn came around.

"Ed," Winry called as he got up and began to exit the waiting area.

Ed turned at the doorway. "What?"

"Go show those Gamemakers what you're made of." Winry smiled brightly like she hadn't in days. "Good luck."

Ed couldn't help but smile back. "You too, Winry."

Ed strode across the long length of the room until he stood before a raised balcony where several Gamemakers sat waiting.

Ed stood before them for a moment, shoulders square, and took them all in as they did the same to him. He watched, not even trying to hide the look of contempt that must have been on his face. These were the people that would make his life a living hell once he enter those Games. They were the ones pulling all the strings, making his struggle for survival into a spectacle for the rest of the country to witness.

"Edward Elric," he stated clearly, secretly proud of how strong his voice sounded.

A few of the Gamemakers nodded encouragingly; several weren't even looking his way, but instead were conversing with each other over drinks.

There were all sorts of weapons laid out before him. There were several that he recognized, some he had even learned how to use over the past few days, and many he could only guess at what their functions were. There were targets set up at various distances, weights, drawing chalk for transmutations and numerous other tools and objects laid out for Ed to use.

But Ed didn't so much as bat an eye at any of them, and he knelt down on the floor instead, ignoring the past three days of training. Alchemy would always be his special skill; no weapon could match his alchemic abilities.

Without further ado, Ed clapped his hands together with a satisfying sound and pressed them against the smooth, cold floor.

The blue light of the alchemic reaction flared up immediately, and Ed felt the thrill of the transmutation shoot through his body. He didn't realize how much he had missed the electrifying sensation or the feel of the ground shifting under his palms.

An object began to emerge from the dip forming in the ground. It was a sword crafted from Ed's alchemy. Skulls and wings decorated its base as Ed pushed the transmutation further. Soon a long blade was formed at the end, and Edward finally pulled its tip from the floor. He stood and brandished it in a fighting stance to the Gamemakers before him.

Ed realized they all must have gasped at his transmutation if their faces now were anything to go by. None of them spoke but instead stared down at the boy below or at the dent now in the floor.

Ed smiled, knowing he had them all watching raptly now.

"That's not all," he proclaimed. Before he could even think of what he was doing, Ed threw the sword aside with a clatter and clapped his hands together once again. Disregarding what Paninya had said before about keeping his automail hidden for the time being, Ed clapped his left hand against his right forehand. A thick blade erupted from under his sleeve, ripping his right glove to shreds that fluttered to the ground near the disregarded sword.

Ed held the shining blade up to show the Gamemakers, who were looking at him in even more disbelief than before.

All was silent for several moments with the Gamemakers all staring down at Ed with varying expressions from shock to dread to utter fascination. Ed decided then that he would most definitely be getting the highest score out of all the tributes. Just look at their faces!

_I bet they've never seen anything like this before,_ Ed thought smugly as he smirked up at them.

The silence was finally broken as a hardy laugh erupted from the Gamemaker seated at the center. Ed's smile faltered slightly.

The man laughing was dressed in nearly all white, and the dark ponytail that trailed down his back was a stark contrast to his pale clothing and skin.

Ed was able to identify the man almost immediately as he squinted up at him. He remembered the few stories he had been told of the Ishvalan War, and knew this man had played a very large part in it. He had been a state alchemy, just as Mustang had been, but unlike Mustang, this man gave Edward an unsettling feeling in his stomach just from observing him.

The Head Gamemaker, Solf J. Kimblee—that was the man's name—stifled his laughter after a moment and looked down at Edward, making him feel smaller than he'd be willing to admit. "My, what's this? You can transmute without a matrix?" he exclaimed in his rough voice. His lips parted into a smile that somehow seemed sinister. "Oh, how fascinating!" Kimblee jumped out of his seat and slammed his palms down on the balcony's edge, leaning far over to look at Edward as he stood there. He beginning to feel uncomfortable under the man's scrutinizing gaze. "How lucky we are to have such a talented alchemist with us this year! I looked forward to seeing you use that alchemy in the arena." Another harsh laugh slipped past his lips. "Well done, Edward Elric! You are now dismissed."

Unsure of what to do, Edward gave a quick bow and immediately turned to leave, trying to shake off the bad feeling.

As he shut the door on his way out he heard Kimblee turn to the rest of the Gamemakers and shout excitedly, "I have a feeling these Games are going to be like no other!"

* * *

Central was a vast city as old as Amestris itself. The streets were easy to navigate to one who knew them well, but even the most well-versed Central citizen had no idea how far down the city went. Not many were aware of Central's secrets. Citizens went about their happy lives with no knowledge of the twisting, turning passageways just below the city's surface. They were completely, blissfully oblivious of how deep the tunnels went, and that far, far below the ground there lived the creatures who had created it all.

The vast lair tucked far below the city of Central was dimly lit. The candles that gave off light were placed far and wide, throwing eerie shadows across the walls and giving the cavern a chilling feel that would scare off any if they somehow made it past all the chimeras guarding the underground tunnels.

"What do you mean he opened the Portal?" The shout echoed against the cavernous walls.

"That is what Kimblee has explained to me. Apparently the boy can just easily clap his hands and transmute. There's no other way around it, he has seen the Truth and he survived." Fuhrer King Bradley stood stoically with his hands behind his back. His voice was gravely serious but his tone was still calm as he answered Envy's question.

"So he's a perfect candidate for sacrifice, isn't he?" Lust spoke up. She stood lazily off to the side, her hip resting against a pipe that jutted up from the ground and disappeared into the wall.

"It would appear so."

"So what are we supposed to do?" she inquired. "We just let a valuable sacrifice like him die."

"And what do you suppose we do?" Envy turned to her. "He's going into the Games soon! We can't just pull him out now, the rest of the country would be in an uproar if we allowed one of the tributes to be spared!"

"We will send the boy to the Games just as planned." The homunculi paused and turned toward the man sitting in the chair in the center of the room as he spoke up. Without turning around, he continued calmly. "We are the ones who control the Games, and so we will ensure the boy's safety from afar."

"We will make sure he wins," Father declared from his seat. "We will make certain Edward Elric is the one to survive these Games."

* * *

Ed, Winry, Mustang and Hawkeye, along with the stylists, had all gathered on their floor's lavish and medium-sized lounging area to await news of the final scores. The room had several plush chairs and couches that matched the décor of the rest of the floor. The seats were all arranged to make for easy viewing of the large projection screen stretched across the wall.

The fact that this very floor, as well as all the others, had its own screen showed just how much better off Central was than the rest of the country. These sorts of screens were rare, at least out in a small town like Resembool. The Rockbells' didn't own one, nor did most of the town, and they had to rely on the radio in their home for verbal updates on the Games. However, for the duration of the Games the large screen used in Resembool's only theater was brought out into the town's public square so people could easily go and watch when they had the chance or when they grew tired of sitting by the radio.

The projection before Edward now flickered to life and suddenly Amestris' anthem was playing from unseen speakers.

The announcer was a bubbly man, the same one who had hosted the opening ceremonies. He had no problem getting excited over the tributes and spent plenty of time rambling before he finally got on to announcing each tribute's individual score, which were each judged on a scale from one to twelve.

Not soon enough, Resembool's tributes were next. A picture of Edward came up on screen and he couldn't even take note of the way his face scowled slightly in the picture because he could feel his score was about to be read off. Ed dug his fingernails deep into the sofa's material unconsciously and his lungs pinched from a breath he didn't know he was holding. But they deflated suddenly and his grip grew limp. Ed fell back against the sofa, shocked, insulted and more than a little confused as the score echoed around in his head because a seven was not what he had been expecting.

They had given him a seven. An honest to Truth seven!

"_Are they serious?" _he asked aloud, not expecting anyone to actually answer.

After what Ed had done in there, after putting all his strength and knowledge and skill into those transmutations, he had been expecting _at least_ a ten.

Al had told him he was the best alchemist around, and Ed had believed him, but now that confidence was teetering.

Maybe he wasn't as good as he had always thought. Maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was. This wasn't the first time this had been proven to him; his mother's failed resurrection should have been proof enough. He was an idiot for thinking he could have ever gotten stronger.

He would never be able to protect Winry now if he was truly that weak, if he was only capable of a seven!

It wasn't the lowest score, Ed knew. On average, a lot of the other tributes had received around a five. But a seven was not much better, and those few who had received tens and elevens—because certainly no tribute had ever received a score of twelve before—would surely come after him soon enough. He would be an easy kill; just a seven, nothing more.

Edward was pulled from his brooding, self-pitying haze as his ears registered a gasp. He glanced over at Winry; her large eyes were locked on the screen like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her mouth was open and one slender hand covered it in surprised. Slowly the hand fell down to her chin and she whispered in shock, "I got a nine?"

The others in the room were applauding and congratulating Winry, and Ed realized he hadn't even heard how they had reacted to his pathetic number.

Winry turned to Ed then, a genuine smile plastered on her face. "Guess those knives were a good idea after all," she said proudly.

"Guess they were." Ed forced a smile for her. He was still distraught from his own score, but the thought of Winry doing so well did help to lift his spirits some. There was certainly more hope now that they could get her home. A score that good would certainly make his job a lot easier.

And as the night went on, Ed began to feel a little bit better about the whole thing. He was confident—proud of Winry even—that a score of a nine was a sure sign she was not giving up without a fight. She really could be the one to survive this horrid reality they had found themselves in.

Ed laid in his overly large bed that night, staring at the smooth white ceiling that was completely black in the utter darkness. He pulled the blankets tightly around himself, trying desperately to calm his thoughts and let himself fall asleep.

He couldn't stop thinking about his score, couldn't stop thinking of all the possibilities it meant.

Ed briefly wondered what Al would say if he were here now, and he wondered what Al had been thinking when he had heard Ed's score announced earlier tonight. He would probably say something uplifting in that optimistic way of his. He would probably tell Ed that he was still the greatest alchemist he knew, and that Ed would be able to show the whole world in that arena that he was worth more than the score he had been given. He just had to have faith in himself and not let a silly number define him or ruin his chances of surviving.

Ed pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at the slit of the night sky visible through the shades, pondering.

A seven was not bad. It was above average even. But it was still nothing to be proud of, nothing that showed he had any promise. A seven meant that he wouldn't be killed first—the tributes would always go after the weakest first since they were the easiest to kill. A seven meant he wasn't amazingly skilled, but it also meant that he knew how to fight, at least in some way. But they would come after him soon enough.

For sponsors, a seven could go either way, Ed supposed. He figured most would be inclined to help the tributes with the highest numbers as they had the highest chance of winning. Though he figured some of the sponsors might take pity on those with lower scores who were struggling just to survive and send them help during the Games. Mustang had said bets were already being placed, but Ed knew the real betting wouldn't start until the Games actually begun, when the tributes finally got to show what they were really made of.

A seven, the more Ed thought about it, might just be enough to keep him under the radar. He wasn't too strong, but he wasn't too weak either. It wasn't enough to get him noticed by neither tributes nor the rest of the country. It didn't make him a threat but still made sure he was taken seriously. As he finally began to drift off into a restless sleep, Ed realized a seven might just be enough to be what saves his life.

* * *

**[A/N: Ahhhh this was an interesting chapter to write! I feel like we're actually getting to a plot now lol and im so sorry if any of that sounded ooc, I've never written for any of the homunculi or Father or Kimblee before, I don't believe, but I hope I was able to do them justice. They're all such fascinating characters and I'm looking forward to writing about them more. Especially Kimblee.  
**

**And wow, even without this long author's note, this chapter is still the longest yet! I considered breaking it up into two chapters but couldn't find a good place to cut it. Besides, it's been a while since I've updated so I think you guys deserve a longer chapter! haha**

**There are a few things I want to say before concluding this chapter. First, as I mentioned in one of my other recently updated stories, finals are done and school is out, so I am hoping that I will have more time for this story (and my others) and will be able to update more regularly.**

**A few other things: in case it wasn't clear, Ed and Al never went to Izumi for training (since I'm sort of basing this off of Panem and its citizens weren't allowed to leave their districts).**

**This also isn't important to the story now, nor will it be for quite a while, but I would just like to point it out now that Alphonse can do alchemy just by clapping; he never lost his memory. Yeah, that needed to be done for the sake of the story.**

**Also, about the radio/screens. Well, FMA _does_ take place in 1914/15, so they are nowhere near as advanced as Panem. I know it was mentioned at least once in the manga, however, that they do have movies at this time (Ed mentioned seeing something in a movie once as a kid, I remember, though I don't really recall what was being discussed) and I know they have radios in Amestris at this time as well, so I figured those would be a lot more accessible and therefore people would most likely be keeping up with the Games via radio rather than by watching it on screens.**

**I haven't talked much about the other tributes either, I realize that ;; I suppose these Games aren't quite as tribute-centric as the actual Hunger Games is; it will mostly focus on Ed and Winry's individual struggles, though there will be other tributes throughout the Games, so don't worry.**

**Okay I'll stop talking now. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you guys for the next one!]**


	5. Chapter 5

On the last full day before the Games began, Edward was awake at the crack of dawn.

There was a rapping at his door along with a gruff, "Get up, shrimp. We've got a lot to do today."

The frown at not having been woken up by Hawkeye's gentle greeting or by a quiet tapping from one of the servants only deepened further as Mustang's words registered. Ed was only able to muster a grunt of "Shut up" from his position buried under the blankets and pillows, too tired and too distracted to get any angrier.

Tonight was the night of the tribute interviews. And tomorrow the Alchemist Games would finally begin.

"Hawkeye and Winry have already begun their day. It's time to get your lazy ass up, kid. Meet me down for breakfast in five minutes."

"If you think I'm so lazy I'd like to see you in the Games instead!" Ed shot back, throwing his pillow at the closed door in vain, but Mustang had already left

* * *

After breakfast they found themselves in the lounge area, facing each other as they sat in the lavish chairs.

"Tonight, as you know, is your interview." Mustang squinted his eyes slightly as he stared at Ed. He lifted his hand to his chin, contemplating. "We have to figure out your approach."

Ed rolled his eyes, feeling more irritable this morning than usual. "Great. If you're coaching me on this then I'll just come off as a smug bastard."

Mustang hung his head with a sigh. He rubbed at his brow, irritably. "Do you really think I want to be here doing this either, Ed?" he asked through his teeth.

Edward crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, I kind of think you get a kick out of pissing me off."

Mustang paused, hand still on his forehead, and glared at Ed. "Regardless," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "we have to get through this. _For some reason,_ the people of Central seem to like you. We'll have to figure out a way to play that up."

Ed sat up slightly. "They like me? They don't even know me."

Roy sat up straighter. "Don't forget the whole country knows you as the boy who volunteered for his brother. The citizens of Central are already intrigued by you. It's not very often that the Games has a volunteer."

Ed frowned. "I didn't do it to put on a good show for them."

"I know that. Now it's time for you to tell _them."_ Mustang leaned forward and elaborated. "Talk about your brother and how much you care about him. I'm sure the whole country wants to know why you volunteered. Talk about how you wound up here with a childhood friend. Telling them about those things will make people sympathize with your situation and you'll get more sponsors."

"I don't want to talk about that," Ed answered somewhat petulantly. "It's not their business."

"Ed, they're going to ask you about that. You and your brother are the talk of the country right now."

"I don't care. They don't deserve to know. They don't care, they're still going to send me off to be killed. My story won't matter to them much when they cheer on my death!"

"Just lie then! Tell them something that will make them happy if you must." Mustang's voice turned stern. "Just do what they tell you to, Edward. Answer their questions. Being difficult will only cause more trouble for you. Or do you want to live your life as an Avox?"

Ed scoured his brain for a second, trying to place a definition to the unfamiliar word. "An Avox?" he asked, pushing his anger at Mustang and the entire situation aside as his curiosity got the better of him.

Mustang stood and turned to the window beside his seat. He looked out across the cityscape and began, quieter than before. "Traitors to the country or people that have tried to speak out against Central. Their tongues are cut, and they're forced to live their lives as slaves to Central. Have you not seen the ones waiting on you since you came here?"

Edward didn't answer, horrified that something inhumane like that was going on all around him without his knowledge, like it was such a normal occurrence.

Mustang walked back and sat down in front of Ed again. "They have ways of making you cooperate, Ed. Don't think you're invincible or that you even have any freedom in this matter. Central wouldn't think twice about hurting the people that matter most to you if it would mean keeping you in order."

"Yeah, I'd like to see them try," Ed shot back.

"You can try to stop them all you want, but you're just one kid against an entire country. I don't like this any more than you, but just listen to me for once and do what you have to." Mustang sat back with a tired sigh. He shook his head ruefully in the ensuing silence. "Edward, do you know why I have this job?"

Ed frowned. He looked away from the man sitting before him, grumbling. "I figured you're trying to get into a higher position of power and thought this would up your chances. Or maybe you're doing it to help some poor kids to make yourself feel better for what you did in Ishval," he said, still upset over Mustang's doubt over his ability to protect the people he cared about.

"Never mind." Mustang said with a sad shake of his head. "Let's just continue," he added, looking far too tired to rise to the bait. "What on earth did you do to make the Gamemakers give you a seven? Alchemists always get the highest scores."

"That scoring system is rigged," Ed answered with an eye roll. "My transmutations were as good as always." He snickered. "You should have seen their faces when they realized I could transmute without a circle."

"You…what?" Mustang asked breathlessly. "You can do alchemy without an array?"

Ed shrugged. "Yeah." He tried to act nonchalant but Mustang's astonished reaction unnerved him slightly. Maybe he shouldn't have flaunted it as much as he had…

Mustang grew quiet for a moment. He glanced away as he mused. "Hmm. Something's not right about that score."

"What, are you saying they gave me a bad score on purpose because I can transmute without a circle?"

"I'm just saying…watch yourself." The man sat back silently as they both took in his words. "You should be more worried about making it through tomorrow than this interview anyway, Edward. Besides, the interview host is a good man. I'm sure he'll try to keep you from making _too_ many mistakes up there," he said smugly.

"You know the host?"

Mustang gave a nod with a knowing smile. "Fought alongside me in Ishval. A man by the name of Maes Hughes."

* * *

Ed fiddled with the folds of the roomy coat that fit comfortably around his shoulders and trailed down past the backs of his knees. Winry stood beside him, staring up, as the rest of the remaining tributes did, as they watched the interviews continue up on the stage.

Backstage, the few who remained were quiet; some shuffled anxiously or quietly fussed over their interview outfits, while many others stood stoically, watching as each tribute was interviewed one by one.

Neither Ed nor Winry said much as time dwindled on. There wasn't much to say that would help quell the uneasy, nervousness they were both feeling at the thought of sitting before the large audience and being questioned in front of the entire country.

Winry was called first. With a start, she flashed Ed a nervous smile and headed up the steps leading up to the stage before either of them could say a word.

The crowd began to roar as they had for every other tribute. Maes Hughes, in his sleek tuxedo, greeted Winry graciously and warmly welcomed her to take a seat.

Each tribute was only given three minutes on stage, and Hughes spent no time getting down to business. "Winry, you are looking lovely tonight," he spouted, obviously trying to make the flustered look upon Winry's face subside.

"Th-thank you," she said with a small laugh.

After several days of wearing matching outfits to training and at the opening ceremonies, tonight was the first time Ed and Winry's outfits differed. Winry was dressed in a flowing silver gown. The tulle of the skirt caught the light of the bright spotlights beaming down on the stage, making her look dazzling. The top almost matched that of her opening ceremonies dress; it was made of a shining material like a cross between armor and automail.

The dress was making a statement; it was allowing Winry to keep a part of herself even as the rest of her world changed around her. Being a mechanic was who she was, and in the Games it could have a hand in saving her life.

Hughes seemed to realize the importance of outfit, because he followed up by leaning in curiously. "This armor you're wearing wouldn't have anything to do with the nine you received in training, would it?" He smiled, green eyes glinting.

Winry laughed again, visibly blushing. She looked out over the crowd for a moment before steeling herself and saying, "Oh, you know the reason behind our personal scores is confidential." Winry smiled knowingly right back at him.

Hughes leaned back and laughed genuinely. "You've got me there, Miss Rockbell."

Ed watched the man closely. The questions seemed arbitrary and conversational on the surface but as Ed listened, he could tell the man was meticulous about the questions he asked, trying to get as much information as he could within three minutes while keeping the audience's interest. "Do you have any skills you _are_ willing to warn us about?"

Winry looked down at her dress; the puffiness of the skirt seemed to swallow the chair beneath her as it cascaded to the shiny floor. She looked about to shake her head but looked up instead with a sudden force behind her blue eyes, as if suddenly struck by a memory. "Back home, I was an automail engineer. I'm good with my hands and I understand how things work."

Hughes rubbed at his stubbly chin. "I see, so you were a mechanic? And do you believe that will help you once you enter the Games?"

Winry nodded firmly. "It's one thing that has made me strong. I never thought of myself as a strong person. But…someone very close to me told me differently. I—we were just kids when I made him automail and helped him through the recovery. I had never seen a strength like his before. And when he told me I was strong too…I knew I couldn't count myself out of the Games. So no one else should either."

It was almost haunting, how an audience of several hundred people fell so silent from a young girl's words. The audience remained hushed, the quiet palpable.

Edward was no better off. His mouth had fallen open and a blush had graced his cheeks. He swallowed the sudden rush of emotion as Winry's words reverberated within him. Edward frowned as her soft words violently reminded him of the horrors they would both be facing tomorrow.

It was Hughes that broken the stillness. He ran a hand through his hair as the words sunk in. He looked up and gave Winry a small smile that was filled with genuine sadness. Hughes shook his head and stated, "Trust me, no one is counting you out." He sat up straighter as the lighthearted mood began to return. Reassuringly, he added, "Well, best of luck to you, Winry. I'm sure this special person of yours is out there rooting for you right now, waiting for you to come back home."

Winry's head shot up and she looked at Hughes, trying desperately to explain it all with her eyes. Ed could see pinpricks of tears forming. "No." She shook her head quickly. "He's not. He's—"

A loud buzzer sang from above, making Winry jump in her seat.

Hughes looked at her, concerned, but stood up to dismiss her nevertheless. He placed a gentle hand on her armor-clad shoulder. "Ladies and gentlemen, Winry Rockbell." Noticing the distraught look still on her face, he patted her shoulder and leaned in to say something only Winry could hear before ushering her off the stage.

She passed Ed on his way up to the stage. She remained silent as she walked by, giving Ed nothing more than a watery, reassuring smile. Ed did his best to return the gesture but he knew it must have come out looking more like a grimace.

With his mind still on Winry, it took Ed a moment of blinking confusedly to realize he had walked onto the stage. The lights were blinding and it took Maes Hughes' enthusiastic greeting for Ed to regain his bearings and find his seat.

As soon as Ed had seated himself and the din from the audience died down into quiet curiosity, Hughes leaned forward, elbows on knees. "So, Edward," he began, voice booming through the speakers throughout the large room. "I believe I speak for everyone when I say you have been the talk of Central this week. Everyone is dying to know more about you, myself included." He smiled lightheartedly then his tone turned serious. "Everyone wants to know why you did it. Why did you volunteer?"

Edward's mouth opened slightly, knowing he had to answer. Everything Mustang had said to him came flooding back. He didn't want to talk, but he didn't want to be an Avox either. He didn't want what was left of the people he loved to be hurt just because of his own pigheadedness.

_Just lie! Just make something up!_ Ed thought in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mentor's.

But as Ed looked between the muted audience and the growing concern on Hughes' face, he began to think about Al. His brother was probably down at the square with Granny now, watching with the rest of Resembool as Ed's interview slowly went south. This might be Ed's last chance. This could be the only time he had left to tell Alphonse how much he cared, and how important it was that he kept moving forward and got his body back, no matter what he saw on that big screen.

Ed would talk. He would do it but it wasn't for the audience, it wasn't for the show. It was for Alphonse.

Ed took a shaky breath and somehow the room grew even stiller. "I…I did it for my brother." He fidgeted quietly and held his hands between his knees, attempting to stop them. With an uncomfortable red tint to his cheeks, Ed continued, voice growing stronger as he gain momentum. "He's the only family I have left. We made a promise a long time ago, and I knew if these Games were going to break that promise for us, then it had to be me to go up there at the Reaping. He still has a chance to accomplish what we, what we've been working toward for so long. And I want him to reach that goal more than anything, even if I'm not there to see it. I don't regret volunteering for him. I just…I only regret," Ed hitched a sigh, "that I won't be able to fulfill my promise to my little brother." Ed felt his speech falter to a halt and he quietly looked down at the black fabric of his pants.

"That must be one special brother you've got there." Hughes smiled kindly down at Ed. "And I'm sure you'll be doing everything in that arena to get back home to him, right? You want to let us in on how you plan to fight in that arena and make it back to your brother?"

This was his time, Ed knew. This what he had been waiting for. Back on less intrusive territory, Ed raised his chin, voice loud and strong as he proclaimed, "I'm an alchemist." He could feel his lips pull back into a slight smile at the statement. The crowd gasped and applauded. Alchemists were always a pleasant surprise in the Games. They always brought about more action, more dire situations and higher stakes. Ed knew he could make that work in his favor.

Edward stood, letting his interview outfit display before the audience and the entire world, just as he and Paninya had rehearsed not much earlier that day. He was dressed in black pants and a dark undershirt beneath a small black and white jacket as well as a thick red coat that drew attention to it no matter what.

Paninya had explained her reasoning before Edward had gotten dressed. "Tonight we're using the fact that you're an alchemist. We're playing that up for all its worth. We want people to remember you and root for you, and we want your competition to see you as a worthy opponent," she explained, handing the coat over to Ed.

"No more working the automail angle then?" Ed replied with a wry smile as he took the red material off his stylist's hands.

"_That_ comes in later." She smiled and flashed him a wink. "You see here, the color scheme of your outfit matches the four phases of alchemy, which have been transcribed into four colors—black, white, red," she said, pointing to the different articles of clothing. "And, of course, the gold of your hair and eyes. Yeah, I did my research," she added as an impressed look overtook Edward's features. "Now when they ask you about what sort of skills you have, here's what you should do…"

Hearing his stylist's words fading in his head now, Edward turned, brandishing the large black alchemical sign of the flamel cross that adorned the back of the flashing red coat. Knowing he had the audience captivated now, he let their enthusiasm drive him and extravagantly, Ed announced, "But that's not all." In one fluid motion, he pulled off his coat and under-jacket, dramatically tossing them aside, to reveal the polished silver surface of his automail arm.

The audience was whooping and cheering. Edward turned around to face them, overwhelmed by the thrilling chaos he had created. Some gave a standing ovation but others remained seated as the truth began to click. Ed saw it first in Hughes' eyes, the way they widened with shock and dismay as it became apparent just who Winry had been talking about. The realization seemed to filter throughout the crowd in small gasps and halted applause.

The buzzer rang then, drowning out the rest of the dwindling noises.

Hughes hung his head, shaking it slightly as Ed and Winry's situation made itself apparent. He stood and approached Edward. Ed could see the sadness in his eyes, but the man put on a smile after a moment. After all, this was all just a show, wasn't it?

He took Ed's metal hand in his, and raised it above their heads as if he was already the ruling champion. Edward was just imagining what Al would be making of all this showcasing, and how unlike Ed it was. But Ed would do whatever he could to gain the country's favor; every little bit would help him and Winry in that arena. Ed could also imagine what the other tributes must be thinking, about how gaudy, how overdramatic his finale had been

"Edward Elric, everybody!" Maes Hughes announced to the audience and to the rest of the world. "The Fullmetal Alchemist!"

* * *

Edward didn't sleep much that night. The chanting and cheering of the audience as they shouted praise to the Fullmetal Alchemist still rang in his head long after he got into bed, and Edward silently cursed Hughes for coining the title, knowing it was bound to stick.

The shouting praises died down by the time early morning came and were replaced by the beginning of a stinging headache brought on by lack of sleep.

Ed knew he looked awful with dark circles under his eyes and his hair pulled back into a sloppy braid. But appearances weren't exactly high on his list of important thoughts that morning.

He stood with Winry, Mustang and Hawkeye, and they said their goodbyes before Ed and Winry were to begin the journey to the arena.

Hawkeye stood quietly off to the side behind Mustang. She tried to keep her face stoic, but even she couldn't help the saddened look that slipped into her gaze as she watched the two tributes.

"So," Edward began with an unnerving feeling of finality, "any last advice?" He tried to smirk but it faltered and fell, never even making it to his tired eyes.

Roy Mustang gave a smile similar to Ed's, but answered seriously. "Wait the required sixty seconds before the gong goes off. After that, I want both of you to turn and run. _Do not_ go to the cornucopia." He gave Edward a pointed glare, knowing he was the most likely to not heed Mustang's warnings. "That's where the bloodbath always takes place and while it may have supplies you'll need, going in there is also a good way to get yourself killed before the first hour is up. Get as far away from that as you possibly can before trying to find water and shelter. If you don't take care of your basic needs, there's no way you'll be able to fight."

Ed and Winry both nodded, absorbing the man's wise words. Not a minute later they were both being ushered onto the tribute train.

"Oh, and one more thing," Winry and Ed turned back to their mentor one last time; a determined look had filled his dark gaze and his voice was serious as he stated, "don't die."

The train doors closed before Ed could even think of a smart remark to bark at his mentor, and he watched the man's figure grow smaller and smaller as the train took off.

The compartment Ed and Winry found themselves in was just as nice as the one that had first brought them to Central, however there were no sleeping or eating quarters—they wouldn't be needing those.

Edward sat down heavily on one of the couches. Winry stood at the window and stared out, lost in her thoughts.

"How honored I am, a simple seven, to be in the grace of a nine," Ed said in an attempt to lighten the tension with humor once Winry finally took a seat beside him.

Winry looked at him, obviously not in the mood to joke when either of them could be dead by nightfall. "That's just a number, Edward," she said with a shake of her head. "You know you probably have a better chance at winning than any of us."

Edward let himself frown. He concentrated on the landscape that flashed by the window. Under his breath, he replied, "That's not really what I'm worried about."

Winry turned on him, a sudden fire in her eyes and a pointed frown on her lips. "Don't tell me you're planning on doing something stupid in the arena. Like trying to protect me instead of fighting for your own life."

Ed's eyes lowered from the window, and his thumbs twiddled with the material of his coat. Each tribute was allowed one item to take into the arena if it passed inspection. He had asked Paninya to allow him to bring his red coat into the arena, and she had been able to get it through Central's security after the interview. Ed knew the bright red wasn't ideal for being stealthy or keeping himself hidden in the arena, but it almost felt like a security blanket around his shoulders. Something about the coat gave him strength, and Ed knew he would need plenty of that in the Games.

"Edward!" Winry yelled once he didn't answer. "You can't—you shouldn't." She turned to him deliberately, her voice softer, almost pleading. "You have Al to worry about. You promised him you would _both_ get your bodies back!"

Edward lifted his head and gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. "Sounds like _you're _planning on trying to protect _me."_

Winry's shoulders fell and her gaze traveled to her knees. "Well…I can't say that thought hasn't crossed my mind," she said quietly, looking like a lost child. "You and Al have already lost so much…I couldn't stand to let you lose each other too…"

Ed was suddenly fuming. At Winry for being so carless about her own life, at the entire world for making this happen, at himself for letting this all happen, he wasn't entirely sure. He kept his voice under control as he muttered, "Don't. Winry, I couldn't…" He stammered. "Just—don't. You have to worry about yourself first. Don't risk your own life trying to save mine."

Winry was quiet for a moment. Eventually her face rose up and she stared at him sadly. "I wont…as long as you promise not to put my life before your own too."

Ed shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

"You have to _try, _Edward."

* * *

They didn't say much the rest of the trip, but those words stuck with Ed. They were hushed but desperate. Angry but somehow calm. Imploring, begging, ordering. They stayed with him as he and Winry were separated, and they were there as Paninya led him to the tube that would take him up into the arena.

Ed's young stylist fussed about his outfit one last time in an attempt to keep some form of normality in this situation. The clothes he had been given for the Games were simple enough, and Ed knew from watching past Games that every tribute was given the same thing. Sturdy, durable boots, dark pants and shirt, as well as a water-resistant jacket, which he wore under his red coat.

"Everything looks about right," Paninya said in a detached voice. "Should be starting any moment. Good luck out there, Ed."

Edward opened his mouth but the words caught in his throat. He sucked in a breath and swallowed, settling for shakily nodding his head instead.

He had to snap out of this. He couldn't start getting scared now! He had done so well at keeping his fear at bay ever since he came to Central, he couldn't afford the luxury of fear here and now.

The glass door of the large cylinder he found himself in slid seamlessly shut without warning. Ed looked up at his stylist with a sudden need for reassurance. She smiled at him and gave a determined nod.

Edward let his eyes slip shut and exhaled as the platform he stood on began to rise; Winry words were in his head once again.

_You have to try._

Try? No, of course he couldn't try. He couldn't think about his own life. He had Winry to protect. So much had already been taken from him. Ed was certain if he had to watch one more person he cared about die, he would go irreversibly insane. His own death would be a much better alternative. His loved ones would still be together and alive and that was all that mattered.

But the sad thing was, that still didn't make it all better. Ed had seen enough death in his time, and he knew in his heart that he did not want to die. He didn't want to leave Alphonse alone and in that body, he didn't want to leave Winry alone in this unforgiving arena, he didn't want to be buried next to his mother at the age of fifteen, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, _he didn't_—

_You have to try._

Edward felt the sun suddenly warm his face; it took him a moment to realize his eyes were still closed. He opened them and blinked a few times as the bright daylight momentarily blinded him.

A flat, green, grassy field came into focus. A large, golden cornucopia sat in the very center and was filled with copious amounts of weapons and provisions and other things that could either save his life or be the instrument of his death.

Edward scanned the area surrounding the golden horn. The twenty-four tributes were lined in a circle surrounding the cornucopia. Many of them seemed to be trying to regain their bearings once again as well.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed overhead. Ed recognized it as Hughes', and Ed knew he would be the one announcing throughout the Games both inside and outside of the arena. "Let the fifth annual Alchemist Games begin!"

Edward's eyes searched rapidly through the tributes, trying to find Winry. He knew he had time—sixty seconds, as Mustang had said—before the gong went off the Games truly began.

"Fifty-five," Hughes' voice announced overhead as he counted down the time.

Edward finally spotted Winry about eight tributes away. He tried to gauge her expression but from this far away it was difficult to make out much. His eyes traveled down to her feet, and he tried to decide by the way they were pointed whether she'd listen to Mustang's warnings or run carelessly into the bloodbath in hopes of procuring a weapon. But Winry stood very still, and Edward swore under his breath, unable to decipher what the hell she was thinking.

"Thirty."

What was she most likely to do? Dammit, she was such an unpredictable woman sometimes.

Surely, she would listen to Mustang's advice. Wouldn't she? Or maybe she would go back on her promise and do what she could to put Ed's life before her own.

"Twenty."

He had to think. He had to decide. He had to think think think _quick. _Or else that gong would go off and he'd be a sitting duck ready to be slaughtered. He needed a plan, and he cursed himself for not thinking of that earlier.

"Fifteen."

He would just have to play it by ear. Winry would move as soon as the gong rang out, and Ed would just have to move in accordance with her.

With that resolution, Edward took one last steadying breath in order to calm his nerves. He could do this. He had to. Failure wasn't an option; he couldn't fail, not again. He couldn't lose one more person he loved because of his own incompetence. That had happened too many times already.

"Ten."

Ed felt his mind drifting as he breathed in and out calmly. He thought of Al. He wondered what his brother was thinking. Was he even watching? What if this was too much to bear and he couldn't even look, couldn't even handle the thought of two people he cared about being put into this situation?

No. Al would definitely be watching. Al was stronger than that.

So Edward decided he had to be strong too.

The gong rang out, and the Fullmetal Alchemist ran.

* * *

**[A/N: wow these chapters just keep getting longer and longer. Even after I said they'd probably be shorter. Ha.**

**Also, it's definitely not FMA until Ed rips his coat off dramatically lol  
**

**Well, let the games begin! Whoo]**


	6. Chapter 6

Edward bounded off the platform. The toes of his boots dug deeply into the soil as he pivoted, keenly following Winry's movements. He watched as her long blonde ponytail trailed down her back, whipping as she turned on her heels and took off away from the ensuing bloodbath.

The slight relief at seeing Winry move away from the worst of the fighting was a balm to Ed's tense nerves. He let out a curt sigh and started after her.

The section of the arena within view was a vast, grassy field. A thick forest of trees surrounded the area, making it the only possible place for concealment. Edward moved away, following around the outskirts of the lined-up circle of platforms. He assessed the vicinity while his eyes stayed trained on Winry's receding form.

The first of many of the tributes had already reached the cornucopia's mouth. The sounds of battle could be heard easily, even from Edward's distance. Without putting much thought into it, he clapped, and pressed his hand against his automail until a long blade jutted out from his metal forearm. Having a weapons made Ed feel reassured even if he was going to do anything to keep from actually having to fight someone, let alone have to kill—

With a hard grunt Ed ran straight into an impenetrable wall. The force of the impact sent Edward tumbling backward. His arms pin-wheeled for a moment as he tried to regain his footing and stay upright. As he stumbled to a stop, Ed slowly looked up. He could feel his heart already pounding, shaking his body to the core.

A sneering face glare down at him. The sun shone down, making it difficult to see, but as Ed squinted up, what he thought was a wall clearly became a boy. He was large and widely built. With his imposing appearance, he almost looked to be twice Edward's height.

Ed stared, suddenly stuck in place as fear course through his veins, turning his blood into lead. It wasn't until the wooden club almost made contact with the side of his head that Edward realized the boy was moving, attacking and intending to kill.

Edward dove to the ground, feeling the air shift above him as the club moved through the space where his head had just been. As Ed's knees impacted the ground, so did his hands. There was a sharp crack of electricity and Ed felt himself deflate slightly with the sudden relief as the alchemic transmutation began. Blue and white bolts crackled up from the ground and under Ed's palms as a solid wall quickly rose up, quickly cutting the boy off from Ed's vision.

Ed didn't stop until he felt certain he was safe. The wall continued growing, both vertically as well as horizontally. It wouldn't hold his opponents back forever but it would give him a few extra seconds to start running.

Sitting back on his haunches, Ed admired the wall for a moment, making sure it was sturdy and no one would be breaking through the soil surface. Without a second thought, he pushed himself off the ground and took off once again.

Passing the end of the wall Ed couldn't help a glance over his shoulder even as he ran away. The fighting at the cornucopia was still going steady, but now there were a few tributes that had ceased their fighting and were now staring in his direction. Some were looking in awe at his wall while others were tracking his quick movements with expressions ranging from envy to approval to downright contempt.

Ed's eyes swept the immediate area once more to make sure no one else would sneak up on him before turning his attention back to the thick trees Winry must have disappeared into.

Ed silently cursed. He had lost track of her already. Hopefully she wasn't too far off but that little skirmish had set him back too much for his own liking. Who knew what could happen to her before he would be able to find her? She wasn't the only who had run into the forest, and for all Ed knew, she could be fighting for her life right now.

Or worse—

_No._

Ed pushed the thought far back into his mind and pushed harder until he broke through the first line of trees. He began to slow, both so he did not trip on the protruding roots and also to keep an eye out for Winry.

There was no sign of her in the sea of green as Ed wandered in further. He took note of the pale, natural colors, trying to see a flash of blonde or a piece of dark jacket but saw nothing.

A thought slowly dawned on him, and it made Ed slow further. Without breaking his stride completely, he pulled off his outer red coat, realizing how easy of a target it would make him in this forest. He could wear it at night and carry it through the day; at least it would keep him warm once the sun went down. So for now, Ed folded it into a messy heap and tucked it under his right arm, which would never grow tired no matter how long he held the article there.

In retrospect, Ed realized he should have grabbed one of the many backpacks spread throughout the grassy area. There were plenty of items not inside the cornucopia and just scattered on the ground in the surrounding area. That explained why that boy had been able to procure a weapon so quickly. Ed was certain now that he had seen a backpack or two near him as he had ran into the forest. His mind had been too preoccupied with finding Winry as well as fighting for his own life to put much thought into the items on the ground around him.

Ed was angry at himself for being so stupid. Any of those items would have improved his state of living at least a little bit here in the games. A backpack would have been wonderful for storage, but there also would have been food and other necessary provisions already packed inside.

He could almost feel his stomach begin to rumble at the thought of having no available food. Ed shook his head, almost laughing at his paranoia. No, he had had a large meal before getting off the train. That couldn't have been too long ago, right? But the thought of having no idea when he would next be able to eat suddenly made Ed feel ravenous. He could already feel a dryness beginning to creep into the back of his throat. The length from his starting place to the edge of the forest had been several hundred yards and he was already sweating under the layers of clothes. The warm afternoon sun was not helping, although now the shade the canopy of trees offered did help to cool him off a bit.

Ed briefly entertained the thought of going back to the field and grabbing whatever items he could quickly reached. His mind yearned to go back, and his fear of dying from something as preventable as starvation or dehydration almost sent him running back the way he had come.

But no, he had to find Winry. Ed had to remind himself that. Finding her was the top priority right now. Besides, it would be too dangerous. The fighting was surely still going on, but many tributes must have broken away by now, and by going back, Ed might run into more trouble than he needed.

So, with a sigh, Ed trudged on farther into the forest, in search of his only ally.

* * *

"So the Games have finally begun, have they?" Roy Mustang eyed the large screen before him. The spacey room in the heart of the Games' headquarters was filled with mentors and escorts as well as other Central officials.

"It seems they have," Hughes mused, following his friend's gaze to the screen with a morose expression.

The fighting had been going on for a while now with no sign of tapering off any time soon. Hughes slipped off soon after the Games had begun; he figured he had another hour or two before the initial bloodbath ended and he would be called back to continue his duty as the Games' announcer while a lesser host was filling in now.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Hughes said quietly, almost to himself, as they watched as another tribute was felled. Both men looked away slightly. Hughes glanced at his friend, reading his grim expression before asking, "Do you see your tributes in there?"

Roy glanced back at the screen without really looking at it. He shook his head. "I don't see them anywhere in that carnage. Seems they took my advice and got the hell out of there. I'm actually kind of surprised, especially after getting to know Ed. That damn brat is too reckless. Now if only the cameras would turn to them so I could make sure they're both alright."

Hughes gave him a side-glance and a knowing smile. "Those two are something else, aren't they?"

Roy couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'll say," he muttered, attention back on the Games.

Hughes leaned slightly forward on the table they shared. "So is it true she's his automail mechanic?"

Roy glanced at his friend for a moment before turning back to the large screen pensively. "Hm. They grew up together. Ed and his younger brother lived with Winry's family once their mother passed away, and then they later became his automail engineers. That's about all they told me."

Raising a slight eyebrow, Hughes asked, "And how did he lose that arm anyway?"

Roy shrugged. "He said it was during the Eastern Conflict. I don't buy that though."

"And why not? They're both from the eastern sector, aren't they? It's very plausible, considering how far the conflict spread."

"Yeah, but Ed's a very skilled alchemist—he can transmute without drawing a circle. And did you see his brother at the Reaping? No boy I know would be able to fill out a suit so large."

Hughes shook his head. "Roy, you know I'm not very good with this freaky alchemy stuff of yours. Just spell it out."

Roy leaned over, picking up momentum. "I'm saying that those boys tried human transmutation, probably to try resurrecting their dead mother. The transmutation would have failed, of course, and I'm certain the younger boy's soul is bound to that armor. Really, it's all so obvious I'm surprised no one else has realized it before."

"Do you hear yourself, Roy?" Hughes shrugged. "Look, I'm not saying you're crazy, but doesn't that all sound a little far-fetched? Maybe he really did lose it during the Eastern Rebellion, and you're just jumping to conclusions."

Roy shook his head. "I'll never know for sure now." He gestured to the screen, where the fighting still continued. Plenty of time had passed since the gong had sounded, and now several of the victorious tributes were beginning to spread out from the cornucopia and out into the arena with the goods they had procured.

"You know you can try to get him sponsors. Even from out here you can try to help him win."

Roy hung his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. Bitingly, he said, "I would, but the damn kid's hell bent on saving Winry instead of himself. If I helped Ed win instead of her, he'd be hate me—more than he already does. He'd be miserable, even if he did get to go back home. I doubt he'd be able to live with it."

Hughes chuckled sadly. "These tributes you've got this year are different than the ones before, aren't they, Roy?"

He couldn't describe it per se, but Roy agreed. Something about those two gave him hope. They were fighters before they even stepped into that arena. For the first time since his career in the Games began, Roy allowed himself to believe one of his tributes might be the victor. "I have to get Winry sponsors." Roy looked up suddenly, his mind set. "If Ed's going to be doing all he can to protect her in the arena, then I will do my part out here, and between the two of us, maybe we can get her home."

Hughes looked up at his friend with a sad smile; it was nice to see Roy so zealous and taking charge once again, but it was at the cost of a boy's life. He couldn't deny there was something special about Edward from what little he knew about the boy, but if Roy thought choosing one tribute over another was best, then he wouldn't argue.

Mustang turned to Hawkeye, who had been sitting beside him, quietly watching as the Games played on, hoping to spot a glimpse of Ed or Winry. "I need you go to find more sponsors," he ordered her.

Riza pulled her attention away from the screen and looked him in the eye. Slowly she brought her hand up to give a stiff salute. A small smile played on her lips at once again having an order. "Yes, sir."

Mustang couldn't help but sense the nostalgia his former subordinate was feeling. He quirked a smile at her gesture, comfortable with its bygone familiarity. "It's just like before, isn't it?" he said, returning the salute.

Hawkeye allowed a small smile as she gathered her things from the table and stood. "Not quite, sir."

As she turned and left, Hughes slowly pushed himself up as well with a sigh. He glanced at the screen one more time before turning to Roy. "I should probably get going too. I never told anyone I was taking off and they're going to need me back when all _that_," he waved distractedly at the on-screen fighting, "finishes."

"It's quite taxing being a citizen of Central, is it?" Roy smirked.

Hughes rolled his eyes. "I'll say. I'm so caught up with these Games, I barely have time to see my family."

Roy pushed himself up as well, turning to leave. "Well, that's—"

"But it's okay," Hughes continued, adopting that dotting tone that annoy Roy to no end, "I've brought pictures with me."

"Look, Hughes, I don't really have time—"

"Aw, c'mon, Roy, you haven't seen them in months! Elysia has gotten so big since you last saw her. Here, see, there aren't that many pictures," Hughes added, pulling from his pocket a wallet as thick as a novel.

Roy sighed, suddenly regretting not going with Hawkeye when she had left.

* * *

The sky was beautiful and the weather pleasantly warm. The forest was peaceful, and it reminded Edward for all the world of summer nights spent exploring with Al, until their mother would flash a light from the highest window and they would come running home without another thought or care.

It didn't feel right. Ed tried to shove the cheery memories from his mind. They didn't belong here; they would only distracted him and keep him from his goals. And this arena didn't deserve his fondness, it didn't deserve to create such a faux sense of security.

The sun was beginning to set now, painting the sky with brilliant hues of gold and orange, and Edward had succeeded in doing nothing but moving farther away from the cornucopia and, presumably, from all the other tributes. Ed hasn't seen, heard nor sense another soul besides the few, small forest creatures, since he began his trek. That was both good and bad, he supposed. Of course, he didn't want to run into anyone else. But seeing no other tribute made him doubt he'd ever be able to find Winry in here.

Judging by how low the sun was now, night would soon be upon the arena. Ed came to the decision to settle down for the night. The announcements for the deaths taken place today would soon be broadcasted in the sky, and Ed wanted a good view. With a twist in his gut, he knew it was because he needed to know, he needed to be certain, that Winry was still alive.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he wasn't sure he could go much further anyway in his current condition. Walking throughout the entire day without food nor water left him feeling ill. His mouth was dry and sore, and his stomach had given up on grumbling hours ago. Ed tried to tell himself he was only half-hugging a tree now because he was tired from walking for so long, but he couldn't fool himself as the world swooped around him and he almost lost his balance.

If he was going to settle down, now was the time. When the last few rays of daylight died out, alchemy would basically be committing suicide. The bright light of the transmutation would be like a beacon, drawing any tributes within the area straight to Ed's location like moths to a lamp. Ed knew he'd be an easy kill the way he was now, and he'd be no use to anyone if he died now.

Without another thought, Ed pushed himself away from the tree he was still leaning against enough to worm his hand out. He clapped lightly, circumspect of the sound, and slapped his palms down against the rough bark of the tree.

Bolts of electricity shot of the tree in zigzag patterns. Small holes formed consistently halfway up the tree with edges protruding from the surface to act as handholds.

As the transmutation died down, Edward gathered his waning strength and grabbed at the first hole. He hoisted himself up, going slow as his head began to spin. He hugged the tree quickly as he felt himself begin to tip backwards.

He heaved a sigh, giving himself just a moment to regain his balance before he forced his limbs to work and he continued to climb. He fell into a smooth rhythm even if his movements were deaf and jerky. He had to move quickly he told himself as he kept an eye on the waning light of day.

By the time he settled in, the sky had turned to dusk. Ed quickly clapped his hands together once more and pressed them against the trunk of tree, effectively erasing the handholds. That eliminated the possibility of someone sneaking up while Ed was asleep if they happened upon his tree. He would just have to recreate them in the morning when it was time to move out, but that wouldn't be difficult.

There were more important things at hand at the moment. Ed set about making himself as comfortable as he could on the large branch he had settled in. It seemed sturdy enough and with a quick transmutation of the surrounding branches, he was able to strap himself lightly to the tree so he wouldn't have to worry about falling out in his sleep.

The temperature was already dropping. The sweat that had been forming all day was now chilling Edward's exposed skin. Ed flared up his coat as a second thought and covered himself with it as a blanket.

As he settled in, the sky lit up. A projection flickered to life and Ed lifted his gaze upward to the familiar scene. The evening's announcements were already beginning even though the last few traces of dusk still marked the sky. Total nightfall was only minutes away.

Ed knew what would happen next as the anthem faded back into silence. The last few notes echoed in the large arena, making Ed feel like the only soul still alive.

The announcements were shown at home just the same as here in the arena. Sure enough, Maes Hughes' familiar voice boomed through the woods just as Ed knew it would. He greeted the remaining tributes, congratulating them on making it through the first day.

The man's voice was chipper as always but somewhat forced as his topic changed. One by one the face of each fallen tribute flashed in the sky. Hughes rattled on about each, announcing their name and where they had been from. But not how they died, they never said how they died.

A pinch drew Ed's attention away from the sky and he glanced down at his palm, realizing only now that his automail fingers were digging nervously into the palm of his flesh hand. Ed forcefully pulled his hand away and quickly looked back up, nervous he would miss the face he was hoping wouldn't appear; he chose to gnaw at his bottom lip anxiously instead.

Ed counted in his head as the dead tributes were listed off. It was twelve in total. Half the tributes were already gone and the first day wasn't even over. Ed couldn't decide if that made him feel relieved or intimidated.

The list ended without flourish and after a quick farewell, the sky went dark once again.

Ed felt a rush of relief as the world plummeted back into darkness. So Winry was still alive. He couldn't help the way he slumped forward, only realizing then how tense his nerves had made him.

Ed rested his head back against the rough bark of the tree and pulled the coat up closer to his chin. It wasn't very comfortable but he was finally admitting to himself how exhausted he really was.

His head was buzzing and his limbs felt wobbly even as he sat rooted on the branch. No food or water all day had left him feeling empty.

Tomorrow, Ed told himself. Tomorrow would be a fresh start. He would try to find sustenance as he continued his search for Winry. Ed finally allowed himself to fall into an exhausted sleep with the hopeful prospect of tomorrow and the reminder that Winry was okay still on his mind.

* * *

An overwhelming stinging attacked Ed's senses the moment he regained consciousness. His head ached and buzzed even worse than the day before. His bones felt like lead, and it took all of his effort to push himself up as much as he could from his position and begrudgingly welcome in the new day.

The sun was already rising, causing the sky to turn an intense shade of indigo. The branches of the surrounding trees looked like frozen silhouettes of lightning contrasted against the brilliance of the sky.

Ed rubbed tiredly at his temple, pulling slightly at his bands, willing the throbbing ache and the unsteadiness to just _stop._

He had things to accomplish today and Ed wasn't about to let some physical ailments stop him. Even slowing him down slightly made Ed resent his own bodily needs.

He had slept restlessly, waking often. The fork of the tree was nothing short of uncomfortable and after spending nights in the posh beds of Central, this felt even worse. His whole body ached in one way or another and his stomach was at it again, grumbling with a renewed hunger.

Ed pushed himself up against the trunk of the tree and undid the makeshift straps that had been holding him in. Ed immediately regretted the decision, realizing just how dizzy he truly was. His body begin to list to the side. He quickly countered the movement but his muddled mind miscalculated and he felt himself topple off the thick branch.

He fell quickly and he fell hard. It took a moment for Ed to even realize he was plummeting to the ground and by the time the fact had made it into his mind, it was far too late to do anything. Ed's arms pin-wheeled feebly and his legs were completely useless. He reached out, grasping the thickest branch he could find on his way down. It bowed under his sudden weight and snapped, not slowing Edward's fall in the slightest. He tumbled down with the branch still gripped tightly in hands, as if it would help anything.

Ed crashed down loudly onto the hard earth. Branches and leaves that had been casualties of his fall began to settle down around him.

Moaning, Ed curled up on his side, abandoning the branch to grip his knees close to his chest. After a moment of groans that turned into curses, Ed blinked, feeling momentarily blinded by the sudden fall.

His view had changed drastically from just a few seconds ago. He tried to gain back his senses as he lied there, wheezing. He was curled up on the forest floor, which had fallen back into silence after his ungraceful crash to the ground. Ed stared into middle distance; the idea of getting back up, especially in his weak state, couldn't even be fathomed at the moment.

Instead he laid his head back down against the cold ground and closed his eyes.

One minute. That's all he would give himself. Then he would have to get up. Lying here all day would only make things worse, even if that's all Ed wanted to do now.

With his eyes closed, the sounds of the forest began to filter through his ears once again. He could hear the slight wind rustle the leaves of the trees and he could hear the swooshing of the underbrush as small animals ran through. Maybe he could try to hunt for one of them soon, Ed mussed lightly as he lied there, his tired mind already beginning to drift off.

Catching an animal would be easy, he could just use alchemy to set some sort of trap. He would just have to figure out how to make it work…then he'd have to make a fire, Ed's mind rattled on with Ed barely paying attention to his own thoughts. But he and Winry had gone to the fire-starting station. If he could just find the correct materials, it wouldn't be too difficult…

"It came from over here!"

Ed felt his heart stop at the unexpected sound of a voice cutting through the quiet morning air. Dread burned through his veins as Ed suddenly had to painfully strain his ears to listen.

He heard footsteps. And there was definitely more than one of them shuffling through the vegetation now.

Ed forced his listless body to stay as still as possible. Maybe they wouldn't see him.

Oh, who was he kidding? That fall of his would have been heard by anyone nearby. On top of that, he was lying in the middle of a small clearing. There was no way he could hide from whoever that was out in the open like this.

Ed had to think. He had to do something. He had to _move._ They were approaching. Ed could hear other voices now but his body felt like lead. It would take an amazing act of herculean strength to move his weak and sore body now.

He was dead. He knew it. Ed was a failure once again, but this time there would be no way to atone to his shortcomings. Ed wondered briefly if the cameras were on his right now. He wondered how weak he looked, starving and still aching and dazed from his fall.

He wondered if Al was watching. It's not like his poor brother had to sleeps. Al was probably listening in at all hours of the day. Surely if Ed's current situation was being broadcasted now, Al would be rushing to the town square to see it for himself.

That sad realization was the last thing Ed thought before the footsteps broke through into the clearing. They came to a stop several yards away and all fell silent. Ed knew they had spotted him.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, it's _that_ kid," the same voice as before chimed in with amusement.

"Looks like that moron fell out of a tree."

Ed remained quiet and still as he lied on the ground, trying to distinguish how many tributes were standing there by the ensuing chorus of malicious chuckles. Ed knew his anger would have flared and he would have been raring to go as they laughed at him but in his dazed state he only felt a flicker of fury before it fizzled out and died. The small surge of anger was enough, however, to make Ed move.

He struggled for a moment before getting his hands under himself and pushing himself up. He looked over his shoulder and slowly his opponents' faces came into view. There were four of them standing there with an air of superiority as they watched Edward attempt to stand.

"Ha. Looks like he's alive after all," the boy in front said, and Ed recognized his voice as the one that had spoken before. He was tall, but not very imposing, with a mop of black hair and dirt and cuts already littering his skin and clothes.

The boy took a step forward, and Edward threw himself into action. He needed to act fast and get away fast; time was of the essence and in his current condition, he needed all the time he could get. Ed slapped his hands together before the boy's foot even planted down, and Ed clapped his hands against the ground.

Walls rose up from all sides, quickly encasing the four tributes into a dirt enclosure. Ed weakly got to his feet and swayed for a moment. He could hear their muffled shouts of anger and fists pounding on the inside of the small dirt dome as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

That ought to hold them, Ed decided. The walls weren't thick enough to keep his opponents stuck in there indefinitely, but just enough to give Ed a sufficient amount of time to escape.

Ed swiped his coat off the ground next to the dome and turned. He made it several feet before a sharp sound pierced the air, and Ed's head whipped around in time to see the dirt walls of the dome crackling with sparks of light that could only be alchemy.

One side of the dome blew outward and the black-haired boy stumbled out first. He was fuming, Ed could see that even through the plume of dirt emitting from the dome. He was tense, shaking, and his hands were clenched around several small, foreign knives.

Ed stumbled back without a sound as the rest of the tributes emerged with their sights set on him.

"You're gonna pay for that, Seven!" the boy yelled. He threw the knives held between his fingers with a precise flick of his wrist without another word. Ed dodged the knives evasively and the tips imbedded themselves into a pattern on the ground beside his feet.

When Ed looked up, a matching set of knives was already at the boy's feet, arranged in a similar pattern with vaguely familiar marks drawn between them in the dirt. The boy pressed his hands down on the circle and the dirt near Ed's feet rolled up like a wave, completely knocking him off his feet.

It looked like he had no choice but to fight. Ed had never seen a type of alchemy like that before and he was wary of what powers this boy might possess. How was it possible to transmute from such a distance? Was it something in the boy's knives that did it? Ed played with the idea of taking on all four tributes at once and confiscating the boy's foreign knives. Ed knew that was just his imagination running wild though; he could barely stand, let alone fight and win against so many people so much more prepared than him. His best bet was to stave them off for as long as he could while his mind turned and came up with a plan of escape.

Ed got his feet back under him and the boy watched him with an impressed smirked. "Feisty, are we?" he said in a condescending matter. "And just a moment ago you looked like you'd be an easy kill." The boy idly began to pull the blades from the ground as if he had all the time in the world. "Ah, well," he finally mused, "it's not fun without a challenge."

Ed wasted no time turning his right arm into the familiar blade. The boy stopped his musings as he watched Edward finish his transmutation. His eyebrows knit in confusion. With a frown he said, "How are you able to transmute without a matrix?"

"I should be the one asking you questions," Ed huffed, trying to make his voice sound strong. "How are you able to do such long-range alchemy?"

"Hmp," the boy laughed humorlessly. "Seems we both have something we could learn. Too bad I'm not in the business of making negotiations with a Seven." His sentence ended with a grunt as he gave a skilled flick of his wrist, sending five more knives that had seemingly come out of nowhere directly at Ed.

With a curse, Ed dodged the projectiles, feeling one graze his waist before the five tips embedded themselves deeply into a tree. Ed looked up at his opponent, leaning gently against the dirt creation the boy had created before, and silently deciding between whether an offense or a defense would be the best way to go.

The boy smirked suddenly as he watched Ed and, without another word, touched his hand down on the circle still spread out before his feet.

Ed brought his blade up defensively, getting into the fighting stance he had adopted as the circle began to glow. His head swiveled, eyes finding the circle of knives that had just been planted in the tree behind him, wary of what the boy was plotting but unable to figure out what it was.

The circle remained dormant, even as Edward felt a shift in the air. A crackle of familiar energy came from beneath Ed's feet, and it was too late, he realized, as he looked down, seeing only then that his left foot had landed directly on the first circle of knives while dodging the boy's attack. Ed jumped back but the movement was futile. His body was propelled by the force of the transmutation and he was sent flying back as his automail leg shattered under the force of the boy's alchemy.

It was with a slightly hysterical sort of giddiness that Ed internally laughed as he was knocked back, thinking of how this must have looked to his spectators. He almost reveled in the shock and horror that must have been flooding through Central as a poor boy's leg was completely blown apart. And where they expected splatters of blood and shards of bone they would only see bits of metal and machine. Confusion and excitement would ring through the streets of the city as they realized what had truly happened, and Ed could practically feel Hughes' damn Fullmetal Alchemist nickname catching on as it became apparent not just one, but _two _of Ed's limbs were made of steel.

Ed crashed down onto the ground hard, shaking him from his inner ramblings, and pieces of broken metal and severed wires raining down around him. With a gasp, Ed shakily pushed himself up and stared down at the damage. The entire prosthetic had been blown apart, leaving behind nothing but the port with several red and blue wires dangling uselessly from it. His pants leg had been cut off, raggedly, revealing his stump that ended in the shiny metal of the port and his shoe was nowhere to be seen.

Thoughts of the Central citizens' overwrought reactions fled from Ed's mind as the true horror of what this meant took hold of his thoughts. He was powerless now. He couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't escape if he could barely even stand.

As Ed gapped down at his limb, the other tributes had been momentarily forgotten. It wasn't until the boy with the strange alchemy bent down and pulled a knife from the ground did Ed remember he wasn't alone. Ed flipped over onto his back immediately, trying to scramble away, far too shaken still to think of a plan of any sort.

The boy cleaned the dirt off the edge of the knife idly as if he had all the time in the world. He eventually looked up as Ed had reached a tree and was valiantly trying to pull himself up. "Well, now that that's out the way," the boy remarked in a casual tone as if he was regarding the weather. He smirked maliciously. The knife blade glinted in the morning sunlight. Ed paused his struggle to stand and watched the boy with the knife, slightly mesmerized by the shining blade as it slowly began to move toward him.

* * *

Roy Mustang practically had his faced pressed against the screen. The kid just wasn't doing well. Roy knew in the back of his mind there was a chance Ed wouldn't even make it through to the end of the day. That was just as well, Roy had already vowed to try and save the girl instead, so why was this so devastating to watch?

Ed had shown so much potential before, he had been such a fighter even before the Games had begun. It didn't seem right that he was about to be snuffed out so easily when the Games had barely even started. Was that why Roy was glued to the screen, desperately willing Ed to get up and fight?

"Come on, Fullmetal," Roy urged in a whisper as he watched Ed step directly onto the transmutation circle as he dodged the other tribute's attack. Roy gritted his teeth. _"Move,_ kid."

But Ed was oblivious to his mentor's concerns, and it wasn't a moment later that Ed was blown back by the force of the transmutation as it deconstructed his leg in a forceful explosion. Roy reeled back, his hand unconsciously covering his mouth in horror. His tribute was dead now; even if he wasn't killed by the sheer force of his leg being blown off, then he was as good as dead now with half his leg missing and a pack of tributes still intending to kill.

Roy wanted to look away—it seemed almost disrespectful to watch Ed now if these were truly his dying moments—Mustang couldn't dare to turn away.

The blood and gore he had been expecting to see from Ed's blown off limb never came. Roy found himself pressed up against the screen once again as Ed landed on the ground, pieces of metal and wire scattering around the area.

"Well, I'll be damned," he whispered incredulously. The brat had never mentioned he had _two_ automail limbs, but that all made a sickening amount of sense. If the boy really _had_ committed human transmutation _and_ performed a soul bonding, there was no way the payment would have only been one limbs. He was an idiot for believing Ed only had an automail arm, and now with that evidence right in front of him, Roy felt his theory about the young alchemist had been all but proven.

He watched Edward sit up and struggled to move backwards, feeling relieved that the boy wasn't in danger of shock or bloodless but knowing he still wasn't out of the woods yet. Roy had never been a very faithful person, he never believed in any sort of higher power, but he found himself bargaining in his head, that if there was something out there, that a miracle could save Ed.

The kid was far from dying, he was still fighting, still struggling to cling to his life. He couldn't die _now. _It wasn't right and it never would be; the boy had fought tooth and nail to survive his life up to this point and it wasn't fair that he could come so far to fall so easily in that arena.

But then, something _did_ happen; Roy decided he'd have to redetermine his faith at a less dire time as a peculiar happening began on screen.

The black-haired boy had been approaching with a knife laid bare while Ed sat against a tree trunk as if stuck in some sort of trance. The boy wasn't able to take more than two steps before a loud boom sounded in the area, sending up an eruption of dirt and making it impossible to see through the ensuing cloud. Another explosion came immediately afterward, followed by several more. The blasts shook the view, and the clouds, which were the only thing visible on screen now, blurred with every boom.

Roy couldn't make out anything besides a few vague outlines of trees. He couldn't even hear the tributes anymore, if they were even still alive. The explosions continued on with nothing suggesting that they would be stopping any time soon. They went on in rapid-fire succession and plumes of dirt and debris swirled across the scene.

Roy squinted at the screen but knew it was futile. Ed had been completely lost the moment the first explosion overcame the camera's view. Still, Roy smirked softly. The explosions were concentrated in one specific area that was still several yards away from where Fullmetal had been. If the kid was smart, and Roy knew he could be, there was no doubt that Ed was the one that would make it out of there alive.

* * *

"What a wonderful sight! This cacophony is like music to my ears." Head Gamemaker Kimblee pressed his face ungracefully to the screen as the rapid explosions played out. He pressed his hands against the screen as well, clawing slightly as if desperately trying to make his way into the arena. "Oooh," he cooed, "if only I could be there now in the middle of the chaos. _Feel_ the carnage with my _very being._ It's been so long since I've taken part in something as exhilarating as _this._ Reminds me of the war of extermination," he said as an afterthought.

The tributes on screen had all disappeared as debris and swirling clouds of dirt overcame the scene; the explosions continued to come, even when it seemed none of its victims were still amidst the chaos.

"Hey!" Kimblee turned suddenly on one of the Gamemakers as one blast erupted several feet away from the others. "Keep those explosions away from the Elric boy. That's an order."

The man squeaked a worried apology.

"Sir—" another spoke up timidly.

Kimblee wheeled on the other Gamemaker and the man shrunk into his seat, looking like he regretted speaking up when he saw the crazed look inhibiting the Head Gamemaker's icy eyes.

"Should we stop now? All the tributes were either killed or have fled by now…"

Kimblee gave a reptilian-like smile that somehow made the mad glint in his eyes more pronounced. "Why would we ever want to stop such a beautiful thing?" He spread his arms before the screen in a grand gesture. "Don't stop now! Don't stop until there's nothing left to destroy!"

* * *

Edward was thrown backward as the first blast shook the earth beneath him. He slammed into the hard-packed dirt, still not entirely sure of what was happening. A second explosion immediately followed, vibrating the ground that Ed's side and face rested on. Ed roughly pushed himself up only to careen to the side a moment later as another blast erupted and shook his entire world. Ed landed back on the ground with an _oof_ that his ears were completely deaf to as the explosion rang out through the woods.

A high-pitched ringing in his ears only worsened the sharp, pounding headache and confused Edward further. It was difficult to decipher what was happening both from the discord in his mind and from the heavy cloud thick with kicked-up dirt from the continuous explosions.

Ed grit his teeth and forced himself to move. Pulling himself forward on his elbows, Edward struggled away from the epicenter of the chaos. He had already wasted enough time and there was no telling how long it would be before he was caught in one of the fatal blasts.

Ed worked his way forward as quickly as he could, using his one leg to propel himself further. He could feel the heat of the explosions on his back growing marginally less intense as he made his way through the woods. He was covered in a dusting of dirt and the particles that swirled in the air choked him and made it difficult to breath; his dry throat burned. More than once he had bumped his head right into a tree trunk that had seemed to materialize out of nowhere due to the thick cloud of debris, and Edward would cling onto it as the world shook once again then use it as leverage to push himself farther still.

The explosions continued with no sign of stopping and Edward knew he couldn't continue on much longer. His body was too weak, his mind too hazy, his lungs pinching and aching with every breath. It felt like he had been crawling on forever. The ringing in his ears had become more prominent as the sounds of the explosions were farther away and the air had cleared up slightly.

Without warning, Edward's arms fell out from under him. Edward stared at them as they lied out before him and with a feeling of detachment, he realized his elbows were scraped raw and dirty. Ed wheezed and brought his hands together, ignoring his stinging elbows. He brought his hands down against the earth, creating a dome above his head with only a small hole to allow him to see into the murky world outside.

Ed curled in on himself slightly as if that would help and covered his aching ears as the world continued to shake and crumble and soon he felt himself slip into oblivion.

* * *

Edward didn't realize he had gained consciousness once again. Slowly, he became aware of his bodily aches and pains, and they quickly forced his mind to begin working again. He lied still, staring out of the whole in his small cover. The world outside was peaceful and quiet, and the sun was high in the sky judging by the shadows cast by the surrounding trees. Birds were chirping merrily and a slight breeze caused the leaves to ruffle.

Ed pushed himself up slightly but faltered after only a second and fell back onto his stomach. He rested his head against the hard earth, feeling his body complain. His throat was parched and his muscles was weak. Several aches and lacerations thumped with every beat of his heart, which seemed too fast and too shaky to be healthy. He was in need of far too many things, Ed was aware of that, things he couldn't procure any time soon or with the minimal amount of effort he could exert in his weak state. He was quickly becoming a lost cause and Ed was finding it difficult to find a reason to get back up.

But there was one. There definitely had been. At least, in the beginning there had been a driving force that had kept Ed going in these Games. If the reason was still there, it was nothing more than an urge, a feeling of obligation that Ed couldn't quite remember nor shake off entirely. It was enough to make Ed move once again.

Still lying on his side, Ed clapped and transmuted his dome back into the ground. The sound of the reaction echoed against the trees and quickly died.

Ed turned his head around to make sure the coast was clear, kicking himself for only thinking of doing that now that he was vulnerable.

Once again it seemed he was the only soul left in the world. He vaguely wondered where those other tributes had gone and wondered without remorse if any of them had gotten caught in the explosions.

Ed pushed himself up to stand but toppled over immediately as he remembered his leg was now missing. Grumbling, Ed got on his hands and knees and began to crawl. He followed a thin trail of blood that had no doubt dripped from the wound on his side, where he had been grazed by one of the boy's knives. Ed paused and placed a hand over the mall wound, feeling now that it had clotted long ago and was now aching dully.

Ed traveled for no more than ten minutes before stumbling upon the sight. Burn marks were scorched into the ground in an arbitrary pattern of starburst shapes. Only now that Ed could get a good look at the damage did he realize that the explosions seemed to have stayed within a twenty foot diameter in the exact spot where the tributes had been earlier. The leaves and trees of the surrounding area bore scorch marks as well and there were several chard pieces spread throughout the area that Edward did not care to identify.

Scattered amongst the mess of burns and through the surrounding forest, pieces of metal glinted in the sunlight. Ed sighed as he looked at the remnants of his left leg, wondering how he had managed to screw up so badly in such a short amount of time.

His self-chiding was cut short as a spot of bright color caught his eye. Ed turned his head to see a pile of red lying on the outskirts of the small clearing. Ed began to crawl toward it, a thrill blooming in his chest.

As Ed neared, his eyes landed on his red coat, which was perfectly unscathed. With a surprised chuckled, Ed grabbed the garment and sat back on his haunches to examine it.

His skin was crying out with pain, his stomach was twisting itself in knots and Ed felt like he was slowly losing his mind, but somehow, this coat had weathered through everything better than he had and came out with nothing more than a few smears of dirt.

Ed found his chuckle turn into a full-on laugh. He fell back, still clutching the coat to his chest as another giggle bubbled up. How could he be so pathetic? Here he was, literally falling apart, but this gaudy piece of clothing had somehow made it out perfectly fine. Somehow a coat was more fit to be in these games than he was. It was all too funny to Ed.

The laughter tapered off sadly after a several minutes and Ed lied there, feeling the sun warm his face and his coat warming his body. His vision blurred red as the sun pressed against his closed eyelids.

It was too hot.

Ed gruffly pushed the coat off himself and opened his eyes as he sat up. His vision was assaulted by the bright light of day and he quickly covered his face as the light sent daggers of pain through his skull.

Ed waited for the nauseating feeling to pass before opening his eyes once again. He kept his sight on the ground and slowly began crawling again, dragging along the coat, that he now somehow resented, like a child clutching a security blanket.

First things first, he needed to fix his leg. He had no idea how or if it would even work but he needed to be mobile if he was going to even have a fighting chance in these Games.

If only Winry were here with him…

The thought made Ed stop in his tracks. But she _was_ here, he realized. Well. Not _here_ here, but she was here, in the Games. Ed sat there dumbfounded as the realization hit him. How could he have forgotten? Even in his fuddled mind, he should have known she had been his reason for everything he had done so far in the Games. Ed silently cursed himself for getting so sidetrack.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

Ed shook his head but that only furthered the feeling of disorientation that was plaguing him. He _had_ to find Winry. He hoped she was staying hidden for the time being. There was no telling where that group had gone and if they found Winry…

The thought made Ed move from his position. The thought of Winry had sobered him up quite a bit and kept him rooted in reality, at least for the time being. He spread the coat down on the ground before crawling over to the first glint of metal he saw.

Ed picked up the small bolt half buried in the dirt and placed it on his coat. He continued the process for a long time, working diligently to try and find even the smallest pieces of automail that had managed to survive the attack.

By early evening Ed had gathered all that he could and a fairly sizable pile of metal now sat proudly on his coat. He had weeded out the wires and other pieces that had been rendered useless after his automail had been destroyed. It wouldn't be the most useful limb, but Ed was certain he could transmute this heap of metal into something that would at least resemble a very basic prosthetic. And at this point, basic was far better than nothing.

Ed clapped and began the transmutation when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He pulled his hands away from the half-formed leg and raised his arm, which still sported his transmuted blade, in preparation of a fight. All he was able to see was a small figure as it moved swiftly back to take cover behind a tree.

Edward remained still, staring at the tree and not willing to look away until his opponent showed themselves. When another minute passed and everything remained quiet, Ed called out, "You might as well come out. I know you're hiding there."

There was no response still and Ed was growing impatient. He was about to turn back to his leg, half worried he had just been hallucinating, when a small head poked out from behind the tree. Ed watched quietly as the girl emerged fully after a hesitant pause.

She kept her hands against the trunk and looked at Edward, a nervous look in her large eyes. Ed stared back, trying to measure up this other tribute. He could vaguely remember seeing the girl in the training center and during her interview but could not remember anything noteworthy about the girl. She was small, smaller than him, and young, with long brown hair pulled back into braids. Ed couldn't see her posing any sort of threat.

"Was that alchemy?" she asked in the charged silence.

Ed blinked and looked down at half-transmuted metal sitting on his coat. "Well…yeah," he said after a beat, slightly taken aback by the casual conversation when he had been expecting to be fighting for his life just a minute before.

She smiled and her face lit up, all signs of her previous reluctance vanished instantly. "I forgot there was an alchemist in the Games."

"Yeah, well…" Ed looked away with an eye roll. "Apparently there's more than just one."

"My dad's an alchemist too," the girl continued on, oblivious to Ed's discontentment. Ed looked up as the girl moved away from the tree and slightly closer to where he sat. "I remember you saying you were an alchemist during your interview. You're Ed, right?"

"Uh, yeah…" Ed said while a voice in the back of his mind told him to stay on guard.

But if the young girl had any intentions of attacking, she didn't show it. Instead, she smiled again, and proudly said, "I'm Nina."

* * *

**[A/N: ackkkk so yeah that's that. **

**Though I prefer using the series' characters, I thought I would add in a few new characters that would fit into the story while adding in FMA characters as well. **

**As for Nina, I was very on the fence about adding her for a few reasons. Firstly, _her age._ Since she's extremely young in canon I wasn't sure if adding her into the Games would be a good idea considering you have to be 12 to be in the actual Hunger Games. I'm honestly not going to discuss her age much in the story because of this reason so I guess it's up to you how old you picture her here.**

**Secondly, I'm trying to diverge a bit from the Hunger Games' original plot. There are a few important scenes that I will definitely be doing something similar to so I wasn't sure if the Rue/Nina parallel would be too much. But when it came down to it I realized these two were similar in a lot of ways and what happens to both of them is surprising similar, but I won't discuss that too much right now :) But I decided mostly because of this that I really wanted to add Nina, so here we are.**

**Thanks for reading! See ya next time!]**


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