A/N: Guess who's back into the fandom? That's right! Thanks for sticking with me for so long, I really appreciate the support. Enjoy~

Riza stormed out of the room, self loathing bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. How could she let Kimblee play with her like that? And worse, how could she let that thing that took on Edward's appearance get away with what it's done?

She grimaced at herself. In just a few weeks of not being a part of the military, she'd allowed herself to soften, to forget that the atrocities of war had hardened her and showed her that in order to protect, you have to be prepared to kill. In order for there to be peace, sometimes there must be war.

At least, she chuckled to herself, that asshole Kimblee would be driving the homunculus nuts for the next few hours he intended to interrogate it. That was an amusing thought.

There was a distinct screech of the stiff metal door to the jail cells shutting, presumably Breda exiting the interrogation.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

"It's Private Hawkeye, sir." She replied coldly. He was still saluting at her stupidly, so in order to remind him of her new rank, she saluted back. He looked disgusted by it.

"Ew, cut that out." He demanded. Despite it all, Riza found herself allowing a small smile at her coworker.

"Why did you follow me, Breda? You could've tried to shoot him, you know."

Breda shook his head. "I couldn't even raise the pistol. Funny how a face can have such an effect on someone, even when we know who's wearing it."

They finally exited the jail, and found that the day was overcast and damp. Their military issued boots hit the pavement simultaneously, and she turned to him.

"Do you realize that our entire team is disappearing?" Her voice was low as to avoid attention from surrounding officers.

Breda's eyes narrowed, and his light expression dropped. "I know. Haven't heard from Fury in months; I think he and Falman are up North near Drachma. As for the Major, who the Hell knows."

"That's true. But besides them, and us, there's nobody left from the office. I found the dust and lack of cabinets in there to be... disturbing."

A comfortable, but mournful, silence overtook them as they made their way to Central Headquarters. Breda managed to maintain the appearance of indifference, but Riza knew he was thinking about Havoc.

Havoc. I'm sorry. I failed to protect the Colonel, and now you, too. I'm sorry.

She hated to admit it, but Kimblee might have been correct in his assumption that Edward, who was actually Envy in disguise, had been the one to exit the cell the night before and murder Jean Havoc. But, the question was, why would it target Havoc? He knew a ton about the case, sure, but he wasn't nearly as bright as some of his other teammates. Riza chewed on this, turning it over in her mind and wondering if Breda was doing the same.

"Do you think Havoc was killed because of our secret investigation into the murder?"

Breda gave her a sidelong glance. "I'm not sure, but if it's a warning to stop investigations, I'm gonna have to watch my back 'cause there's no way I'm stopping now."

Riza nodded. "There's too much blood, and now it's getting even more personal."

"If Edward is actually the kid who died in Xing, why do you think that Homunculus is pretending to be him?"

Riza frowned, unsure herself. Perhaps to raise instability, or to get closer to military personnel for more bloodshed.

That's right... Edward's gone too.

Once in the hall of HQ, Hawkeye saluted Breda quickly and fled to the women's room. She bent over the sink, running the cool water over her now perspiring forehead and watching the small bit of mascara she bothered to put on run down her face.

Almost like tears.

A child of sixteen was killed. His brother was missing, alone somewhere or perhaps hiding from whomever was after him.

If they could just find Alphonse, perhaps they could understand who the Homunculi were targeting, or why they killed Edward, Mustang, and now Havoc.

Wouldn't he try to contact me if he knew Edward was being accused of something he didn't do? Or if Edward was killed, and Al was in danger now, he'd look for my help, right?

The more she looked into Mustang's death, she realized, the more confusing it became. Once she and Havoc became closer, he was suddenly as far as could be. Once it seemed like Edward was in fact the killer, and the more she tried to resist the possibility that this was the truth after all, she discovered that Edward himself was probably a victim as well.

Nothing made any sense. Now, she had not one murder to solve, but three. And the conditions in which she was searching were not safe.

"Hello?"

The voice startled her. Riza turned to face the Private from the night before. She saluted half heartedly to her, but the woman saluted back, probably because of her history as a lieutenant.

"I was told that if I see you, to send you to the phones. Major Armstrong called the late Colonel Roy Mustang's office."

Riza nodded, thanked the officer, and exited promptly.

"Hello? This is Lieu- I mean, Private Riza Hawkeye."

"No need to be so formal, Lieutenant. I have some... concerns to bring up with you, if you have a moment."

Riza sighed into the phone, and immediately dust invaded her mouth. She coughed away from the phone, toward the large, overpowering window that seemed so desolate now.

"Yes, Major, I have the time. But it's Private Hawkeye now."

Armstrong chuckled lowly. "You know you'll always be my superior officer, by name or not. Now I'll have you know I'm not calling from anywhere near by."

Riza raised an inquisitive brow. "I was wondering where you are. Is it Eastern? Were you transferred as well?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I'm in Resembool."

Riza inhaled sharply. "Edward and Alphonse's hometown?"

"That's right."

"What are you doing there? And when did you even leave Central?"

"I claimed I was taking vacation time. I was concerned about the whereabouts of Alphonse Elric, so I thought I'd stop by Ms. Pinako's home, where I visited years ago."

"And Alphonse?"

He hesitated.

"The people here had no idea he was missing, nor about Edward's accusation of murder."

"Is it not public information yet?"

"I believe it was released to the public a week ago, so the papers haven't reached a town this far from Central yet. But it's still unsettling..."

Hawkeye sunk down to the floor, touching her palms to her forehead.

...that neither of the Elrics called the Rockbell residence.

"I'm sorry you had to inform them, Major. I understand how hard that must have been."

She assumed he nodded from the other side of the telephone line.

"Unfortunately, though, it seems I have some bad news for you as well, considering how... slow news seems to travel."

The line was silent.

"Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was killed last night. Apparently a boulder...fell on him."

"..."

"I'm sorry, Major."

"Why are you sorry. It's your loss as well."

Riza agreed silently, still blaming herself for failing to protect three teammates.

"Solf J. Kimblee is accusing Edward of that murder as well. He claims he found a way out of the cell because guards were off duty."

"Then what, snuck back into the cell? That's preposterous."

"I know. But, listen, there are some details that are plausible, but can't be discussed over the phone."

She knew Armstrong would understand what she was suggesting. He hummed lowly.

"Alright then. We will arrive in Central Headquarters tomorrow at 1500 hours."

"Wait, who's 'we'?"

"Well," He chuckled, "Ms. Rockbell and I, of course."

The line went dead.

White.

He was white.

Not just by race, but by fashion too. His coat, his shirt, his vest, his trousers. White. The hat that covered the locks of deep obsidian was deceptively white.

White changed meanings for Edward. In the beginning, when his mother would clean his white sheets, or when she would wear a white, knit shawl to warm herself while having her morning coffee, white meant what it was intended to mean: It was purity, chastity, and soft kindness.

But the reason this symbol was so well known was because it had been proclaimed by people wearing that color of skin.

That's when its meaning changed for him. Edward encountered the Truth. It was completely blank; a paper without color and Edward was incapable of filling the void. It was glaring white that demanded his attention and stole his brother's body.

Later, he met an Ishvalan. And to them, he learned, white was symbolic of tyranny rather than purity. It made Edward consider who'd made white the symbol it was, though he figured it was probably an Amestrian or Drachman, complimenting their skin the color of snow.

Solf J. Kimblee wore a deceptively clean white, Edward thought, to hide his blood red intentions.

"So, kid, I'm curious: Did you actually do it? Or maybe you don't know what happened, or even about your brother, huh?"

Edward's eyes were focused on the flies. They were his friends, buzzing away and taking his mind with them; Stealing his lunch, dropping dead to show him that it was in fact too dangerous to eat.

His stomach growled, and he vaguely wondered if his cheekbones had sunken in yet. Perhaps when his company had shoved his jaw into the cement floors, a deep purple formed in its trough and shaded it just right. He was sure his shirt was hanging off of him by now, and had long lost his coat, which sat in the opposite corner, shredded.

"You're not going to reply to me? Just as well. It really doesn't matter to me whether or not you did it, kid, as I'm sure you've caught onto by now."

He leaned over Edward's gaunt form.

"Killer or not, you're still accused, and with the death of Jean Havoc, the military's sure to be afraid of the Hero of the People. I wonder how the civilian populace will react when you're given the death sentence, huh?"

The killer of countless Ishvalans stood up, laughing, and removed his gloves. He rubbed the circles on his palms together, as if contemplating an explosion of the whole city.

"Conflict, Fullmetal Alchemist. Armed conflict inside and outside of the country. That's what the homunculi are after, and that's what I love most. As for you, kid, just sit tight and look broken."

A swift kick to the ribs, and Edward felt blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. He let his body hit the dank wall, and the corner of his head went warm and wet as well. He felt a bruise form on his shoulder, and suddenly his shirt was being removed.

Kimblee turned Edward's body so his left shoulder would be seen, the bruise running under his tanktop but still visible.

He lifted the camera hanging around his neck. It didn't even take on the appearance of white.

"That's right, just like that."

The camera flashed, and with a swift glance at the photograph, Kimblee chuckled and exited the cell.