#i feel like i need to have more int hese tags but idk what

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (3)

tag || ao3 || ffn

Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering.

Rated: M. it’s a horror/zombie au fic. - or it tries to be Warnings: Blood, Death, Zambees, Cursing

Chapter 3/11

Scar

Silence dampened the survivors’ mood like a cold sweat. They fixed their gazes to the floor knowing their weariness would not be relieved any time soon.

Except for Roy Mustang; he stared into the distance with narrowed eyes.

Scar found it difficult to quantify Mustang’s augury. Each time the Flame Alchemist appeared he was a different man. shedding who he was before, molting like a Kingsnake. He had witnessed the haughty, overconfident military officer so secure in his ability and his ghost, back in the tunnels, moments away from losing himself. He had read in the newspapers of Maria Ross, and had wondered what kind of arrogant soul subverts their own system to coldly burn a woman beyond recognition. Scar had felt the heat of Mustang’s legendary flames when he incinerated the mannequin soldiers with controlled unrelenting power. The tales he had heard of one of the most prolific killers in the massacre did not represent the man who held his subordinate with inordinate concern. Scar’s skepticism was not without warrant and he wasn’t alone.

“This is a joke, right?” He unraveled his arms, looking at his chimera brethren for reassurance and finding none. “Everyone’s soul just got sucked into this ...this thing and now you want me to believe there’s war coming?”

“Whoa whoa wait, Mr Gorius - let me,” Edward Elric turned, cocksure, “how the hell are you so sure about this?

“Ed,” the teacher admonished.

“No, I’m serious. What’s the big idea? If they arrived, why does it have to be war? Can’t we, you know, talk?”

Mustang frowned in Edward Elric’s direction. “Yes, we can. But we risk putting ourselves in more danger that way.”

“How?” Edward Elric looked around the room. “None of us have the military uniform. We aren’t armed -- Most of us anyway.”

“Don’t be blinded by your naivete, Fullmetal.”

“Was that a blind joke?” he quickly intercepted.

Ignoring him, Mustang pressed on, “Think about it. Their first assumptions of us won’t be of innocent passerby that happened to have survive a strange phenomenon--”

Like a child, the young alchemist interrupted, “But why not?”  

“Fullmetal,” Scar watched Mustang take a deep breath; one to maintain temperance, to be sure. “On many things, I appreciate your insight as you and your brother have prodigious abilities in alchemy and most sciences. However, I wouldn’t trust your military intelligence expertise as far as I could throw you.

“Under my watch, I made damn sure you did not see the front lines of war. These are organized coercive forces, one of which will not pause because we have women and children. Our neighbors aren’t well-versed in alchemy, if they have any true grasp of it at all. Their foundation wasn’t forged from it. They’ll think we’re spies or, at the very least, assume we’re all alchemists -- they have every reason to assume hostiles on sight.”

The elder Elric sat back down on the hospital bed, the spring creaked and filled the void.

“I can tell from your silence that you don’t believe me.” His patience was wearing thin, Scar noticed. “I’m not asking your to believe me; I am telling you.”

“How are you so certain?” The Curtis woman asked him with a softer and more understanding tone than the accusatory ones Roy Mustang received earlier. “You have to let the layman understand. We don’t automatically jump from national catastrophe to war between foreign countries.”

The scowl that was on the Colonel’s face softened. “I would love to give a simpler understanding; believe me, Mrs. Curtis. It’s a matter of amassing military experiences and strategies over a decade. Despite what some of you may think, I didn’t get to Colonel on just good looks.”

“Jury’s still out for that.”

While Edward Elric’s joke earned him glares, Scar turned inward. He couldn’t deny Mustang’s tenure in the Military. The Amestrians implemented tactical finesse and organizational prowess on top of their overwhelming forces. The Ishvalans relied heavily on guerilla warfare: hiding behind dunes, rigging the roads with homemade explosives, and raining gunfire from crests of valleys. His time training in the vaulted temples showed him the way the desert people fought. Before the Amestrian assault, their occupation was limited to dealing with brigands or deserters looking to pillage wreaking havoc in a district or two before attempting to disappear into the perilous desert.  But it was tacticians they lacked. That, along with the lack of alchemical warfare, resulted in the darkest times of his life and for his people.

He didn’t expect Ishvala to answer his prayers like this, he thought grimly. Ishvala forgive us.

“Oh yeah, this entire time… back in headquarters.” Darius interrupted Scar’s musings. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that Scar didn’t noticed the hostility that seeped in through the walls. Nudging those at his sides, he continued with a subtle barb to his words. “That’s right. The Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang? I didn’t forget.”

“Uh.” Mustang’s mouth hung slightly ajar, confused by the sudden declaration. “You’re going to have to excuse me if I don’t immediately recognize you.”

“I remember too.” The shortest one Jerso nodded and further explained, “We were in the military before we were turned into science experiments. Central HQ was so busy the day you transferred from the East with your retinue.”

“The Hero of Ishval -- really awful stuff you did out there.”

“Get to the point,” he mutteed.

“Forgive us if we’re a bit...cautious of the alchemist with such a high rank within the military.” Darius said to Edward Elric. “The womanizing one. And really, really ambitious. Highly destructive too.”

“Are you finished?”

“How do we know you’re not just like Kimblee? Tossing us out as soon as you’re done making sure you’re safe.”

“He might be a bastard, but he is no Kimblee.”

“Is that so?” He directed his gaze to Lieutenant Hawkeye. “Say, how did you get that nasty cut on your neck?”

Her palm quickly met her bandaged neck.

“That’s enough.” He stood abruptly and would have toppled forward if not for Lieutenant Hawkeye’s quick hand to his shoulder. Straightening himself, he said, “I’ve said what I needed to say and there’s no obligation to stay with this group if you desire to leave. Lieutenant. Fullmetal.”

“Sir.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll need to gather sufficient supplies to transport Alphonse. Perhaps we can do so with an ambulance. Lieutenant, we’ll need to get you some firearms.”

Scar noticed May’s eyes staring at him - almost pleading. He nodded at her and she spoke up, “If we stay, where will we go?”

“East.” Edward Elric and the Colonel Mustang said in unison.

“If they’re coming from the South and the West, it only makes sense,” The small alchemist said before Mustang could explain.

“There’s a military hospital 20 miles East of Central. Far away enough to avoid the crossfire.”

One of the chimeras grunted.

“To stay here within Central is assured death. You have three days to decide,” Mustang said emphatically

The silence that settled this time felt more at ease. Pensive, not hair-raising, but still agitated with lack of options.

“What will we do until then?”

“Gather supplies and munitions. We should probably travel in pairs, in the event I’ve miscalculated and their advance moves faster than I anticipated.” He sat back languidly.

“I have one matter left to attend to in Central and that is to bury my husband.”

“Teacher-”

“I’ll join ya,” Darius walked with Izumi as she exited and passed a glance at Mustang that he missed. “This hospital already seems too cramped.”

”We’d like to go the radio station where our comrades were last seen and  stop by the military’s armory on the way back.” Lieutenant Hawkeye relayed in typical militaristic fashion. “We would likely need someone else to join us.”

“I’ll go.” Scar gripped the upholstered armchairs to stand. A flash of indiscernible emotion flashed through the sniper’s eyes before it disappeared.

May bounded over to him as Scar spoke, and stopped mid-stride. “Mr. Scar,” May spoke in low tones, “but you’ve only just healed.”

He didn’t say anything, only acknowledging her with a stare.

“Then I’ll come-” May stopped and hesitated with the rest of her sentence - the panda cat mirroring her emphatic gestures. She stole quick glances to the bed where Alphonse Elric spoke with a concerned Edward Elric.

“No, stay here.”

“But I wanted to talk in private - about Xing and... something else.”

“It can wait,” he said, watching the pair leave.

“When you get back then…” he thought he heard her say, but he followed Mustang and Hawkeye before May started to answer.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he heard Mustang tell her.

“Scar,” she greeted instead of replying and Mustang perked.

“Thanks for joining us Scar.”

“Are you certain you’re up for this?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”  

She thinned her lip, nodding her head in silent acquiescence.

“We’re going to the radio station to find our comrades and then detour to the military armory that is on the way back.”

“Where’s the armory?”

“Halfway through the city. I’ll commandeer a vehicle to get there and back.”

The clouds drifted in front of a late afternoon sun when they reached the radio station.

Car doors closed - his and then another. Lieutenant Hawkeye went to help Colonel Mustang despite the newfound  independence from his walking stick. Scar used that moment to glance at the streets. It was the industrial side of Central, but surprisingly vacant compared to the amount of people on the sidewalks he saw on the way there. Lieutenant Hawkeye swerved through wrecked cars that had lost their operator mid journey. Some had caught on fire and were still smoking and smoldering.

In response to this, Mustang had wondered aloud how many people had actually left their stove on. Many people told the Ishavalan he was a severe type, but even he recognized the joke and thought that it was insensitive to make one in light of this situation. To his surprise, Hawkeye had frowned and asked if he was thinking about the gas trapped inside the buildings.

Scar turned back to the two storey building; the orange tinge somehow seemed ominous bouncing off the darkened windows. The inside proved to be just as dark. Amestrians favored sealed, closed spaces allowing sunlight to venture in through their own mean, in comparison to the open windowed architecture of Ishval. During his time in exile, Scar never got to properly venture into an Amestrian home - always on the run, in alleyways, or abandoned places -- hiding amongst the shadows.dusty from the settling of the air, not from moving grains of sand.

He climbed up the stairs where the Lieutenant had already started moving bodies.

There were already beads of sweat glistening on her forehead and her face looked haunted, white as monk robes. Her hands slid down her face before she noticed Scar standing in the room and quickly composed herself.  ”They’re not here, sir.” Her eyes looked at Mustang as she spoke, glancing at in Scar’s direction briefly, and he noticed her fear. He wasn’t sure why, but she was shaken by whatever her findings were.

Mustang shifted his position to the sound of her words. “What do you mean?”

The sniper stood from her crouch, raking a hand through her loose blond hair. He noticed her mouth trembled despite her efforts.  “You said they would be in the radio station building. They escorted the First Lady to radio station, correct?”

His brows narrowed, “Of course, that was the plan.”

Lieutenant Hawkeye cleared her throat. “At present, the employees of the radio station are here, Mrs. Bradley is here, Maria Ross and even Brosh. But Breda, Fuery, and Catalina are not.”

Maria Ross rung in his ear for a moment, unsure if he heard right as he recognized the flicker of hope that dashed across Mustang’s greyed eyes; his subordinate’s told a different story. “Are you saying they could be alive?”

She switched looks from one corpse to the other, “I’m-I’m not sure I-”

Curious, he peered at the corner she was slowly approaching, dipping down to the green-carpeted floor.  

She straightened to a stand without a word.

Quick to catch on, Mustang asked, “What is it, Lieutenant?”

A moment passed before she turned on her feet, “It’s Hayate.” She cradled a medium-sized dog with a black coat and white paws. It’s small eyes were closed, its chest didn’t lift and its paws didn’t twitch.

Canines were a rarity in Ishval and his purpose in the desert disallowed him the luxury of domesticated animals. If anything the only other time the Ishvalan saw sadness like this for an animal was May’s tearful concern during the disappearance of Xiao May.

The woman petted the dog’s chin and ruffled his ears, her neck looked strained with the tendons appearing like cable cords underneath the thin skin. He may not have heard it, but she inhaled quick like she suppressed an emotional exhale at his expense. She appeared tense and immediately noticed when Mustang tried to approach. “No, don’t,” she warned.

He affirmed her with a nod when she looked over. He watched her guide the colonel back down the stairs, well-trained in schooling her expressions, and carrying the dog in her arms.

The Colonel stood by the rear doorway of the broadcasting building and Scar purposely made his feet sound louder. The dark-haired man turned his head in acknowledgement, “Hawkeye said she’ll only take a moment.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I remember when Fuery brought in the pup. It was during a downpour in East City and he was trying to find a home for the dog out of the goodness of his heart, unable to just leave it out for nature to take its course.”

He looked at Mustang curiously.

“Breda was allergic, Falman said he’d read up on dogs and would rather get attached to the temperament of a labrador than a Shiba Inu.” He smiled into the distance as the memories, Scar assumed, replayed in his mind’s eye. “Havoc said he’d take him if only to eat him. She snatched him from Fuery’s hands with conviction and named him then and there.

“‘Black Hayate.’ We told her that that was just as bad as eating the thing. He was her companion and he couldn’t love her more. Fiercely loyal.” Mustang looked down, kicking his feet like an embarrassed child over the doorplate. “I hope you’re not standing there so I can pretend I was talking to myself.”

He almost chuckled, but it turned into breath escaping quickly through his nose. “I’ve learned it's not an unusual thing for an attachment like this to happen. May is very close to her pet panda cat.”

“I only wish we met under different circumstances.”

“Those are regrets for a different world.”

He only saw Hawkeye moving her arms, kneeling atop the grass with the orange backdrop of the sky decorated with some pointed trees.

She met with them at the doorway. The borders of her eyes were red, matching the pert tip of her nose. Her schooled expression broke for a moment with the corner of her lip twitching upwards in the way mourners did.

Before Scar could hear the break in her voice, he was interrupted by the scraping noise of a chair haphazardly scraping across the wood floor. He followed the noise across the ceiling.

They climbed to the top floor as briskly as they  could with narrow walkways and tight doors and back into the station’s microphone room. A woman in pink was standing in the middle of the room with slanted shoulders and favoring her right leg.

Something wasn’t right. He felt it in the thick of his bones, rattling in the space where vestiges of his faith lied.

“Mrs. Bradley?” Hawkeye said, confused as the First Lady began to turn. “She was on the floor, she had no pulse. You heard me, right?”   Something wasn’t right.  He examined the slow moving body. Her eyes were blank, her mouth hung slack jawed and her arms limp, a posture unbecoming for the wife of a dignified leader.   

“Mrs. Bradley?” She called again and began to step forward.

Scar blocked her with an arm and shot a cautionary glare, “I wouldn’t.”   The old woman’s eyes switched between him and her, swaying arms like pendulums. “D-Dear…?”   Up until then the Colonel was silent beside her, observing without his eyes. “Do you hear... growling?”   “No sir, no one is--” Hawkeye slowly mumbled to him, unable to tear her eyes away.   The First Lady’s slack jawed mouth tightened and opened at the same time as she lunged towards Lieutenant Hawkeye. Without a moment to react she took a step back, and the elderly woman crashed into her hard enough to tackle her to the ground.

Seconds felt like hours as he watched, frozen from the sight as the so called Mrs. Bradley tried to bite the face of the Lieutenant. She held her back only by a hand to her forehead as it chomped down on its own teeth like a feral animal.

Getting control back of his wits, Scar seized it by the scruff of the collar and pushed it away harder than he intended to from her light weight. He helped the Lieutenant up.

“What’s happening?”

“Give me a moment, sir. The threat isn’t over.”

He kept watch on Mrs. Bradley and he heard the sniper pull out her pistol.   It danced in front of him, swaying. The eyes weren’t right, everything about it moved inhumanly. It growled again and lunged towards him. He heard the Lieutenant bark, “Get back!”; but with only a moment’s time to react, blue light filled his vision and Scar’s tattooed arm extended out in front of her. Blood painted the floor underneath her as it shot out of Mrs. Bradley’s ears and eyes as if she were crying blood. Her mouth remained eerily opened as she plummeted to the floor.   She exchanged glances with him as she clutched Mustang closer after tucking away her firearm. “The previously presumed dead Mrs. Bradley attacked me.”   “She attacked?” Mustang parroted.   As if she felt the same chill Scar did, she continued, “Yes and we need to leave.”   The rest of the corpses seemed to twitch and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was his imagination or not. He chose to err on the side of caution instead of waiting to find out with the pair following behind him.

Sunset burned across the horizon as they exited. He was beginning to think this day would never end.

He hated to admit that his nerves were frayed. He could feel the blood drained from his face, the cold that suddenly set in a warm, spring evening. Scar marched ahead as Hawkeye struggled guiding Mustang back with haste and without him tripping.

Central Headquarters loomed above the tops of buildings; the epicenter of it all.

  “What do you suppose that was?” Hawkeye asked Scar, finally reaching the bottom step.   His lip thinned, pushing the dread down his throat. “Of our teachings from Ishvala, a body rising from the dead is a horrible omen. One of the worst. If what you said is true and that woman was truly dead, then there is an inexplicable evil behind this.”   He stopped suddenly, spotting it first.  A man outfitted in the Amestrian military uniform limped across the street, dragging his bleeding leg behind him. “He shouldn’t be able to walk...” But it didn’t seem to bother it. They froze where they stood. Scar hoped it wouldn’t notice them.   “Why did we stop?” The naive question broke the aching silence.

Scar glanced at the Colonel, forgetting once more about his blindness.     The thing turned and he realized it was armless. It noticed them immediately and in its stillness, it looked up to the bleeding sky and released a shrill cry so animalistic and raw that he covered his ears. He looked up and it hadn’t moved from its spot, but his heart was pounding as the adrenaline rushed through his veins.

He was about to accept that nothing had happened, but suddenly behind him, bodies began to emerge from the crevices between buildings, from homes and shops and flooded the streets.

Hawkeye pushed Mustang into the car and instructed him to get in at once.   “What was that?” He asked, rubbing a bump on his head.

“The dead,” Hawkeye answered gravely, buckling in her safety belt. “The dead are rising.”   “The dead? What do you mean the dead?”

She didn’t answer him; she appeared to focus on trying not to hit the people that had tried to get close to the vehicle. More and more people walked towards them as they passed each row of streets.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!”

Lieutenant Hawkeye slammed the brakes and Scar almost left his face printed on the back of Mustang’s seat. “They’ve surrounded us.”

All at once, the sacrificed started tapping at the windows with their hands, demanding entry to their haven. Was this it - Is this Ishvala’s fitting punishment?

“I can’t move forward, there’s too many of them.” Hawkeye announced and, without her knowing, gave him his answer. “Scar! Can you make a pathway?”

“Through them?”

A crackling noise came from the driver’s side of the window. A man, groaning loudly, had picked up a rock and began tapping it against Hawkeye’s glass screen. “Scar, can you or not? Do it from your side. Straight down this road will lead us back to the hospital. Take the Colonel with you please.” The tapping was getting more insistent and the tip of the rock had pierced through.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Mustang said soonafter.

He nodded to Hawkeye’s instructions and forcefully swung open the car door, knowing a handful of sacrifices back. He used his right arm to sunder the road for a short escape. He ripped Mustang out of his seat by his arm.

“We have to go back - or at least wait for her!”

“You heard her. These things are dangerous and we have to get moving.” Scar tightened his grip as the Colonel tried to free himself.

“Lieutenant!” He called out and it turned the heads of the sacrifices that were in a stupor. “Ri-!”

“I’m right here, sir.”

“Don’t do that.”

Scar let go of his arm, but their little pause had encumbered them, placing them in a worse situation than being trapped in a car.

“I don’t think these things are friendly or patient,” She muttered sardonically.

Scar searched for an opening, calculating an exit strategy. The blockade of bodies made that almost impossible for all three of them. In the back of his mind, a quiet, meek voice recited a prayer to Ishvala for his safety and the safety of those still living.   “Lieutenant,” Mustang beckoned. He pulled a glove from his pocket and slipped it through in his fingers.

Scar watched dubiously, brows cinching together in concern.

“Sir?” Hawkeye responded, glancing at the overwhelming number of sacrifices.   “Be my eyes.”   “Yes, sir.” 

A/N This is a chapter I am least proud of since Scar isn’t a character I normally write :’D