Test Subject: Edward Elric
Day: 4
Time: 6:59 p.m.
Location: Test Chamber 17 (?)
Testing Progress: Has Disappeared from the Chamber.
-Aperture Laboratories

"Who…are you?"

The black-haired girl didn't respond. Not at first. She blinked hard upon stumbling out of her pod, and looked as if she were about to collapse—and Winry was sure she would have if Atlas and Pea-Body hadn't leapt forward and caught her first.

Winry, a doctor at heart, leapt forward as well, although quite unsure where she could exactly be of help. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

Finally coming back to herself, however, the black-haired girl 's attention suddenly snapped towards Winry for the first time, and she subsequently appeared surprised. She opened her mouth to speak, before a shuttered expression crossed over her face, and she decided against it, reaching out, instead, for Winry's hand.

Winry, nervous, but somehow trusting of this girl—because how could this young woman be anything else but a victim, after having been sealed in that pod?—gave her hand to her new companion.

The girl, to her surprise, began to trace letters on her palm with a ticklingly light touch.

W-h-o-a-r-e-y-o-u-?

Winry could have laughed—because that childish, reckless part of her that had grown up with the Elric brothers instantly would have responded, "Hey! I asked you first!" but in this situation, that hardly seemed appropriate. Instead, she bit it back and smiled, answering, "Winry. Winry Rockbell. I'm an automail mechanic from Rizenbul. And you are…?"

The stranger's dark eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion. Instead of answering right away, she wrote, Y-o-u-a-r-e-n-o-t-a-t-e-s-t-s-u-b-j-e-c-t?

Winry's eyes softened. "No," she murmured softly, sadly. "But my very good friend is."

Realization dawned behind the black-brown eyes staring at her. A-r-e-y-o-u-l-o-o-k-i-n-g-f-o-r-h-e-r?

She should be, shouldn't she? Winry swallowed painfully at her own guilt, reminding herself that while she was locked in here, she had no idea when it was safe to come out to even begin finding Ed in the first place. So she shook her head, blonde hair paled to platinum by the harsh lighting swinging. "Him," she corrected first. "And no…although I should be. Truth is, I don't know if it's safe to leave this room yet. So…until I do, I'm…stuck here."

The stranger's eyes softened, although confusion lied behind their depths. W-h-a-t-d-o-y-o-u-m-e-a-n-s-a-f-e-?

Winry cracked a smile, but couldn't help herself by responding, "Okay, I'll answer that—but first, hold up now. You've asked enough questions. Surely at least I can ask you something before you continue this interrogation by this point?"

The black-haired girl rolled her eyes good naturedly, but nodded, conceding.

So Winry smirked, triumphant, before sobering as she asked, "Why don't you talk? Y'know, with your voice?"

That same shuttered, shadowed look darkened the young woman's face as before, but this time, she bowed her head slightly—and Winry felt through their joined hands the tremor that suddenly shivered through her—miniscule, yet still there, like an electric current. It took a moment, and the automail mechanic would have taken back her question, had the stranger not then responded, I-h-a-v-e-r-e-c-i-e-v-e-d-b-r-a-i-n-t-r-a-u-m-a-t-h-a-t-h-a-s-i-n-h-i-b-i-t-e-d-m-y-a-b-i-l-i-t-y-t-o-s-p-e-a-k. S-o-r-r-y.

From the experiments? Winry couldn't believe the overwhelming sorrow that washed over her at the trembling finger's letters. She swallowed hard, grasping the black-haired girl's hands for encouragement and murmured gently, "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault that you can't talk or make a sound. It's theirs."

A soft, thankful smile crossed the stranger's face, and she wrote, S-o-m-e-t-i-m-e-s-I-c-a-n-g-r-o-a-n-o-r-s-c-r-e-a-m. I-t-i-s-n-o-t-v-e-r-y-c-o-o-r-d-i-n-a-t-e-d-o-r-p-r-e-t-t-y-b-e-c-a-u-s-e-i-t-i-s-i-n-v-o-l-u-n-t-a-r-y-b-u-t-i-t-h-a-p-p-e-n-s-a-n-y-w-a-y.

Winry shrugged, smiling. "Doesn't have to be pretty. At least it's your voice. What did you say your name was?"

The girl smiled back amicably, clearly warmed to Winry, and answered, C-h-e-l-l.

Winry's grin spread as Atlas and Pea-Body clicked and cooed with happiness at their sides. "Well, it is very nice to meet you, Chell. I believe we'll make great friends."

Chell's eyes suddenly clouded over and appeared very wet, and her mouth grew tight, but she nodded, and gripped Winry's hands strongly in thanks.

The Rockbell daughter understood the sentiment completely.

It was too bad the moment was broken by the sudden creaking of the chamber door to their left. The sound was so sudden, it shocked Atlas and Pea-Body into fleeing the scene with terrified shrieks and whirrs, while leaving Winry and Chell to jerk back, watching with wide eyes as someone incredibly familiar shoved it open and stumbled inside with bright hope on their face—only to look disappointed by what actually lay inside.

"Dang it. Wrong room, guys," said Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc as he sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn this was it, but my memory's been shot since the gas, so…" said a voice from behind him, not yet seen as a second, black-haired member of their party entered and took one glance at the room before them, before freezing in surprise at the two girls staring at them with equal shock.

Mustang couldn't help but smirk smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, well, one down, one to go. How good to see you, Miss Rockbell."

Winry frowned, her face heating up as she opened her mouth to screech, "What took you so long, you jerk?! Do you know how long I've been waiting?! I'm hungry, dammit! Kidnapping is so not what I signed up for when I allowed Ed to join the military!"

This only served to amuse the Flame Alchemist even more, but just as he was about to respond, the third member of their group entered, asking curiously, "Oh! Did we find—" but all voice and color left Doug Rattman's face as he beheld the other, darker-haired young woman halfway across the room, who stared at him back in glassy terror.

"Chell…" Rattman breathed, while his mind scrambled for words but eventually found, Oh crap…

And then the girl screamed.

It had gone against every desire of her heart when Hawkeye had told Breda and Alphonse not to go charging inside the Aperture Science building as soon as they heard Mustang swear and a long silence envelope their side of the walkie-talkie.

But, instead of letting them dash inside and tear the place apart looking for their comrades like all three of them desperately wanted to, she held them back on thin reins, waiting and waiting because her superior's orders had been very clear:

No matter what you hear, do not take action until I say the code-phrase, or until you do not hear from me and the clock has struck midnight. Understand?

Oh, Hawkeye understood. Didn't necessarily mean she had to like it. But she obeyed anyway, as was her duty.

Now, however, they somehow were talking to Edward instead of Mustang, who clearly wasn't with the boy, else he wouldn't still be suffering this mental strife, and Alphonse, as he responded to his brother, sounded like every single word he spoke and that which was spoken to him physically—although, she knew it technically wasn't possible—pained him. (Although, she also knew the soul-searing pain he was feeling from his brother's suffering was also hurting him in other ways—perhaps much more important ones.)

Still.

None of them could breathe when GLaDOS' final command came over the walkie-talkie, overheard by the three gathered around the device.

And Alphonse, if he could cry, would have.

"You did it! The weighted companion cube certainly brought you good luck."

It did, really, Edward sighed, nodding, patting the Alphonse-cube beside him subconsciously. He would almost be sad to leave it behind on that button there in order to continue…although as he looked around, he began to be puzzled because the door that the button opened didn't lead to an elevator, actually—so maybe he wasn't done?—but instead, to a pedestal with another, smaller red-button upon it.

There was also an ominous, huge, closed tilted pipe into the floor outside of that room, in the small area that had another door across from it. It had 'CAUTION' in huge, grey letters, printed on its rim. Edward didn't think too much about it.

(Not yet.)

"However, it cannot accompany you for the rest of the test and must, unfortunately, be euthanized."

…wait.

"Please escort your companion cube to the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator."

…

He couldn't…he couldn't register anything. Numbing, dumb silence stretched, and all Edward could feel was a vague lack of comprehension. Those words simply didn't make sense, couldn't be understood. At all.

What was She asking him to do? Was that Amestrian? Huh. Must not have been—

"Rest assured that an independent panel of ethicists has absolved the Enrichment Center, Aperture Science employees, and all test subjects for all moral responsibility for the companion cube euthanizing process."

Something buzzed in Edward's stomach and ears as he heard those words, ringing high and long, and faintly, he knew he knew what she was talking about, but there remained that empty whiteness in the forefront of his cranium that blocked out all possible responses and courses of action he could take. It was almost like an impossible abyss had opened up in his capacity for reasoning, taking out his admired genius and leaving behind, instead, a skeleton of a person who heard but did not intake. Or simply did not want to.

Euthanizing…he—no—he knew what that…meant.

No…the problem was thinking of that hideous word in the same sentence with and referring to Alphonse.

The world lurched. Edward couldn't stand.

"Brother…?"

"While it has been a faithful companion, your companion cube cannot accompany you through the rest of the test."

It can't? Why not? Why—why not?

"If it could talk—and the Enrichment Center takes this opportunity to remind you that it cannot—it would tell you to go on without it because it would rather die in a fire than become a burden to you."

Pain surged up Edward's throat, pressure weighing down his collarbone and choking, suffocating him.

Would he…would he really…?

Edward's hands—flesh and automail—oh—no—wait—it was still a gun—gross, awful, unorthodox—both clawed at the side of the hearted box, trying to speak, trying to think clearly, but all he could think of was the reality that They want me to kill my little brother.

And the possibility that Alphonse would actually want to die.

But you can't leave me—

"Brother—"

No. Wait.

It was just a box.

It wasn't Alphonse.

It was just…just his imagination…right…?

When did I forget that?

"Testing cannot continue until your companion cube has been incinerated."

…right.

Edward swallowed roughly, and shut down…everything.

He pushed himself to stand, nodding, focusing even as he felt sweat dotting his forehead and every muscle wanting to pull him back, trembling with the effort it took just to...but…no—he could do this. It was just a box.

He shoved himself forward, forcing every step after another. On. And on. Inch. Another inch. Rubber tile after rubber tile passed slowly by his braced feet, and even as he moved, he slowed as if gravity was restricting him. "It's just a box…right…" A harsh, quiet laugh, cursing his own stupidity. When did he become so…unstable? He was shaking too hard to tell. "…it's—it's just a box, damn it…"

He blatantly ignored the way his voice cracked to a whisper at the end, making his curse far weaker than he wanted it to be.

"Brother…"

Oh gosh. "Shut up—shut up." He couldn't do it—no, but he had to; he'd be stuck here forever unless—no, but he couldn't; not when it was still talking to him with Al's voice—

No. Yes. No. Yes.

Edward found his feet frozen, halfway between the button and halfway between Alph—the box—and consequentially, standing in front of the giant incinerator that remained closed and falsely harmless beside him.

He stared at it with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

…h-he was supposed to do something…right…?

…Al…you can't possibly want…this…

"Although the euthanizing process is remarkably painful, 8 out of 10 Aperture Science engineers believe that the companion cube is most likely incapable of feeling much pain."

The tightness in Edward's throat blossomed, filling every possible corner with steel rods.

That's right—oh, that's right he can't feel any pain because I made him that way—because I stuck his soul inside that piece of armor—because I wanted Mom back—and that wasn't right—I was selfish—I've always been selfish—and now—and now—

…now…what if Alphonse really did want this…? And…and he was being selfish (again), by refusing him this…this…

"Brother…it's okay."

Oh.

Edward cleared his throat, the rocks inside rolling around and scraping up and down his trachea.

R-right…

It was a long moment before the elder Elric could find it in himself to respond.

"I don't know…" he finally murmured—but failed; rather, it came out as a hoarse whisper, so honest and rugged with these coursing emotions that he thought he had cut off two years ago. "...I don't know what to do…I…can't…" It was growing increasingly harder and harder to breathe, the pressure in his chest steadily and gradually rising, and Edward just didn't know.

"The companion cube cannot continue through the testing. State and local statutory regulations prohibit it from simply remaining here, alone and companionless. You must euthanize it."

Of—of course.

Alphonse wouldn't like to be alone.

…but was this really better…?

Something cold fell from Edward's eye as he turned and forced himself to continue his journey to the button. He didn't take the time to discover what it was; just knew that he disliked it and it was suddenly very hard to see.

He lost track of when he got there, when he pressed the button, and when he returned to the box's side and began pushing it towards the incinerator that released wavy heat and burned deep in its depths with scorching fire, bubbling and ready to kill—eat—devour—Alphonse—and—oh—no—he—he couldn't—he—

Edward stumbled away, trembling hard.

The cold things fell very hard now, and Edward's forehead began to hurt with the strain upon it from this contortion his face was morphing into. He made an ugly picture—hideous—but it didn't matter, because he was even uglier on the inside for even considering to throw Alphonse in that—

"Destroy your companion cube or the testing cannot continue."

"No!" he shouted, the sound loud and echoing off black rubber, scratching up out of his chest with clawing desperation. "I-I can't! I won't!"

"But Brother—"

"—no—Al—please—you can't want this—you can't make me kill you—"

—box—box—it's just a box—not Al—not Al—

But it was. Oh, it was. Because it was Al's voice. And personality. And—everything—

"—Brother," the thing murmured, very softly, very gently, although it, too, sounded strained. "Y-you have to—"

"—no!" Don'tsaythatdon'tsaythatdon'tsaythatIdon'thavetokillyouIneedyouINEEDYOU.

"Place your companion cube in the incinerator."

"No!"

"Brother—"

"—damn it, Al!" Edward panted harshly, lungs heaving with each breath, shoulders rising and falling as he roared, "I've already killed Mom—I'm not going to kill you, too!"

Silence.

Sheer, utter silence.

"Brother…"

"I'm not." Edward shook his head, warning—or more like daring, the box—or anyone—anything—to challenge him. "No. Don't even—I'm not." He cleared his throat. "I won't."

"You wouldn't really be killing me, anyway," his dear, dear little brother's voice spoke quietly, tremulously, from the steel interior of a different body, but the same, beautiful soul. "I'm just a b-box, right?"

No.

No.

No. You've got it all wrong. You never were.

…or was he right? Was this still his imagination…? When did the lines between reality and dream become so blurred? When could Edward not tell anymore?

"Incinerate your companion cube."

The shaking started again.

"…do it, Brother. I'm not…I'm not y-your A-Alphonse. I'm just…something of your i-imagination. Like you said."

"No…"

"Brother."

Silence.

"…this is what I want."

The grey cold numbness overtook Edward again.

"…okay."

It seemed so light. So oddly less heavy than before as he hefted it up to the ring and then pushed it into the fire below.

And when it was over, Edward stared for a long time at the closed incineration chamber, ignoring the click and the slide of the round door opening behind him. It was strange, really—because he thought he'd feel guilt. He thought he'd be so overwhelmed with this sickening black-tar essence in his stomach, clogging up his arteries, that he'd scream and choke and might possibly die.

But as it was, he felt nothing—except for the cold trails of somethings that continue to drip from his eyes in constant, blurry torrents that made it so hard to see and focus and even hear himself think.

He waited and waited for the guilt to come, but something must've been wrong with him, because it never did.

"You euthanized your faithful companion cube more quickly than any test subject on record. Congratulations."

Oh.

Edward awkwardly cleared his searing, aching throat.

There…there it was.

He slid to his knees and bowed his head against the cool grey rim of the thing that burned what may have been his brother, thinking his flesh hand was just a bit too white.

Rattman had finally got it right.

Mustang panted from the effort after exiting the incineration chamber, and plopped the slightly-burnt companion cube down on the walkway, retrieved at last. In retrospect, it had been a really stupid, rash plan—rushing head first into a furnace—but it also, had been the only thing they could think of, since Rattman kept swearing that it would happen soon. (Whatever it was.)

And although he was uncomfortable with the man—especially because of Chell's reaction to him—part of him also knew the ex-scientist was trustworthy. He had, after all, suggested that he and Mustang continue on to get the cube and subsequently, the radio, while Havoc and Winry helped settle Chell down, which was a smart move in and of itself, since Chell seemed completely and mentally incapacitated by Rattman's very presence.

He also had known what he was talking about, regarding it.

It did happen soon.

And Mustang was trying to work out why Edward's silence after the deed had been done was so unnerving.

(Perhaps because that way, he could not tell what the kid was doing. If he had screamed—sure—at least that would be a form of venting which Edward usually participated in violently, and that would at least be something reminiscent of the Fullmetal Alchemist they all knew. But to have the kid quiet? No sound? No noise? Just…silence? That was different. That was off. That was wrong.)

Mustang, propelled, almost turned back around and re-entered the furnace, willing to climb up and grab the kid to sneak him under to the insides of the Aperture Laboratories. As it was, however, both he and Rattman knew that was a bad idea.

As long as GLaDOS had her eye on Edward, they, themselves, could move about undetected. It was that kind of advantage that they couldn't afford to lose.

"Besides," Rattman consoled and frustrated Lieutenant Colonel. "It'll be over soon. There's only two more chambers, and then he's finished. We can pull him out then—and I know the way there—so we'll get there in no time. All right?"

Mustang, with a crowbar they had found, pried open the lid of the companion cube roughly. "As long as we get him out soon. I don't like him in there, Rattman. At all."

"I-I know…" the ex-scientist's face saddened. "Neither do I. Trust me."

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded briefly, curtly—although part of him still really didn't—and pulled the returned walkie-talkie up to his lips, calling out, "Hawkeye. Alphonse. Breda. Do you read me? Over."

Breda's voice responded. "Sir! Good—Hawkeye said you might be able to get it if it went through the incinerator—although how she's confident of these things, I'll never know—but hey. Whatever. You got the radio back. Good. Great. That mean you got the boss, too?"

Alphonse's voice was quick to add, "Please say he's with you, Lieutenant Colonel!"

Mustang swallowed. He couldn't respond immediately, and pulled the device from his lips with a laden ache among his hand and forearm. It is times like this that make me hate my job… But he was a soldier, and soldiers knew how to break bad news to family. "I apologize, Alphonse. We were not able to get Ed. Repeat, we don't have the Fullmetal Alchemist. We have to wait for two more chambers yet until we can pull him out."

"Why?" Alphonse's voice was quick to screech, but Hawkeye spoke over him.

"Understood, sir. What would you like our course of action to be?"

Mustang nodded to himself, thanking the heavens once more for a lieutenant like Hawkeye. "Stand-by. We have the situation under control for now. However, I do believe we'll be setting free some other test subjects soon. Prepare helicopters and evacuation vehicles for a large population of people who may or may not have brain traumas."

"Copy that. Will do. How many are you expecting to need transportation?"

"Around sixty, Lieutenant. Prepare for a few more, just in case."

"Understood. And how are you holding up, sir?"

Leave it to Hawkeye to sense a distress of any kind. Mustang sighed long and heavy, reaching up a hand to rub some creases in his forehead away. The corner of his eye caught sight of the 'companion cube,' and he couldn't help but hate it instinctively. "It's not me I'm worried about, Lieutenant. You know that."

Hawkeye sighed back gently over the line. "Right. But be careful, sir. It goes without saying, but we don't need two alchemists undergoing mental duress that will take recovery."

"I know. I'll be careful."

"Good."

Mustang let his hand fall to his side.

Test Subject: Edward Elric
Day: 4
Time: 8:49 p.m.
Location: Test Chamber 17
Testing Progress: Has Successfully Incinerated Companion Cube
-Aperture Laboratories

Crystal's Notes: This...was so hard to write. ;A; I literally spent all day pouring over this chapter from top to bottom, writing it out, re-writing sections (especially that huge middle, dramatic part that I have taken to calling The Scene, because it's just so critical), and then finally had part of it beta'd by a lovely, lovely friend while Elsa is out at a convention. 8D See if you guys can find her, btw! If you're at a convention, ask around for one fanfiction author named Elsa and ask for her autograph. That'd be awesome. (Hee hee.)

So anyway, my friends aside, I hope this chapter was all that you guys were hoping for. ;A; I know I built up so much tension for The Scene, and I just...I really hope all the feels came across. It's meant to be awkward and unorthodox, because by this point, none of Edward's reactions to anything will be normal. He's far too gone for normal reasonings and responses. So. ;A; Poor fellow.

Thank you EVERYONE who has reviewed, favorited, and followed so far! You're my shining stars, and I'm continuing this all because of you guys! Stick with me until the end-you all know there's not much more to go through from here!

Have a wonderful day!