Interlude I

"I, the undersigned, military serial number O-2801097 of 451 Park Avenue, East City, Amestris, do hereby declare this recording to be my last Will and Testament.

"I revoke all previous wills or testamentary writings made by me. I nominate whosoever shall be my immediate superior at my current command to be the Executor of my Estate. Should he or she be unwilling or unable to act as executor, I request that all my belongings be donated to the Charity Commission for the Reconstruction of Ishval. I direct that the executor of my estate shall not be required by the Master of the High Court of Amestris or other competent authority to give security for proper performance of his duties.

"Now that that's out of the way…

"If you're listening to this, I've cashed in my chips. Kicked the bucket. Gone to a farm upstate. And being as I'm currently recording this Will in an attorney's office on Fleet Street, I haven't a blind clue how I eventually go out... I don't know how I die. Hopefully with my boots on –– I couldn't abide gathering dust in a vets hospital somewhere. Oh yeah, and while we're on that note… if I'm unable to make or communicate my own decisions while I'm on life support, then I'd ask that my dying should not be delayed, prolonged or extended artificially by medical science. Don't keep me around, and for the love of god, don't let Marcoh or Knox try something screwy. I won't thank you for it, and I hope whoever's listening to this will allow me that last bit of dignity. I guess if I have any final request, it's that my wish is carried out by my physicians and friends, as is my legal right.

"This recording is already costing me a small fortune, so I'll make this quick. I don't have a whole lot of family left. Well, not a lot of blood-relations, at any rate. Cousins, mostly. Never met most of 'em, and now I never will. Regardless, I've filled out the necessary forms to let them know what to do in the event of my passing. I dotted my i's and crossed my t's a long time ago. This uniform ought to come with an advert for a decent funeral home in addition to the dry cleaning coupons. It's part of this line of work, I suppose… we contend with this possibility on a daily basis, trying to see through this tragic mortal blindness. Conquer it, even. But it's the sort of blindness even one of those Philosopher's Stones can't cure. The irony is, the alchemists probably understand the concept better than most. Maybe that's why they make such devastating human weapons: they know the stakes. Soldiering forces a desultory acquaintance with death. But, for all my anxieties, I am prepared, and as I record this, I am content. I sincerely hope I didn't die in pain but if I did, then take some small comfort in the fact that I'm not suffering any more.

"While I've made my peace, I know I will die with regrets, as we're all given to do. It's part of being human. You can't live out every iteration of your life, examine every choice, accommodate every decision... you'd tie your brain into knots. So I'll say my bit, and you can lay me to rest. East City, preferably. Somewhere where I can see the sky.

"They told me, back in the day, that I was a good soldier. Lotta potential, you know. Signed up because I wanted to do right by others and others to do right by me, and for the most part, I reckon I did okay. But I guess my first regret is… I will die a coward."

Continued in Act I: An Anthem for Doomed Youth