Disclaimers: I do not own the Fullmetal Alchemist (anime/manga)

Genre: AU, Angst, and psychological horror (I think)

Warnings for any sexual or horrific/disturbing scenes.

Note: I'm guessing this is going to be Roy/Ed - not sure yet. If it does and you don't like that, then stop reading.

2nd note: If characters seem OC - sorry. Given the circumstances of this being an AU fic there could always be changes due to different history.

Chapter 1: 15099 (part 1)

Edward's back arches up from the slab of cold metal underneath him. He watches from the corner of his eyes, the doctors and scientist taking note of his reactions and the machines readings. On his left was the screen showing his heartbeats. His life signified by rhythmic lines and beeps. The electrical charges dance through him. Leaving pain that seems to wire throughout his body. Edward glares angrily at them - them, standing in their green hospital shirts and pants. White masks and gloves to protect them, as he laid naked on the shiny stainless steel table.

He hates the table; it gleams at him every time he was brought to this room. Besides the machine and metal within the room, the walls and tiles were a polish white. Edward doubts the white was to make him feel calm. Edward himself could imagine the red that seeps down from his reopened wound - the pain arching him slightly higher than the last was able to dismantle newly made blood clots. By now his breathing was hoarse and fills with rage. The first chance he'd get, Edward would delightfully beat one of the scientists. And they knew it too.

His body relaxes again onto the cold surface. Edward's breathing was short and deep, trying to overcome the last voltage. His thick leather restraints relieve the pressure: thick leather straps across his neck, one to hold down his only arm and another for his only leg. He hates this table. Not for its cold touch or leather bindings - it reminds him of the morgue. Of dead bodies laid down to rest upon the metal tables; resembling much like the one he laid on, with the exception of wheels to cart him off. He was in a morgue - once. It was enough for him to fear this table. Edward could remember his mom and his missing father. The pale skin and the silent cold of the room reminds him of how there were others in the room with him - with Edward and his mother. But they were like her, like his mom. They also were silent, pale, and cold - just cold.

Edward's head relaxes to one side. To his right was the two-way mirror where he could view himself in his desperate state. And where they could view him. The others always talk about it, about who could be on the other side of the mirror. More than once Edward has came across the question in his mind.

"How do you feel Edward?" The gruff-voice belong to the lead scientist. Edward turns his head towards the voice. The mouth guard taken from his mouth to let him speak. (They couldn't possible let his tongue be bitten off during experimentation.) The doctor (though behind a mask) was smiling. Edward couldn't see this smile, but he found it mocking.

"Go to hell." His voice was weak from muffled screaming - the scientist still wasn't pleased with the response. Even if Edward's voice was just a whisper - Ed's menace still held strong.

"I'm sure Dr.Fallor has already spoken to you about behaviour." Edward hates the sweetness the man could carry within his voice. "If this continues, we're going to have to put you in isolation again."

It was an empty threat. Edward knew they wouldn't do such a thing. Fallor's assistant told him - of what all the doctors and scientist thought of him. His threshold for pain (unfortunately) was better. Edward could last longer under the pressure of the torture, endure everything from electric shock, to freezing temperatures and 1st degree burns across his body. None of the drugs they've been testing works efficiently enough for them to move onto 2nd degree burns. Edward silently thanks for the small miracle.

Edward just looks away from the scientist, not bothering with a response. 'Let them think what they want.' Again, he looks at the mirror, at his 16-year-old self. Edward and the other test subjects were all well fed, given exercise routines to keep them fit, and numerous mind games to keep their brain stimulated. Edward looks at himself, then looks away. He couldn't, for his own life, understand why he would be the centre of attention. Attention from the scientist and doctors, from Dr.Fallor, the other test subjects, and most of all, from Fallor's assistant.

#> #> #>

They hate him. For some odd reason, they hate him. Edward is next to the bed on the cement floor. He didn't want to move. They hate him. The other test subjects were like him. Edward shares their pain of the endured torture, both physical and mental. He also was brought here at the age of twelve from an orphanage. He was with them as they were stripped and place to face the wall. Asked question, when all they could do was ask for a reason to be here. They were all confused as to where they were sent. 'This place is bad.' Scrubbed raw from head to toe, shaved bald and yelled at if you cried about it. 'It was truly ridiculous of how the adults treated us, as if we were adults.' Back then, he might have cried. Now, he made a fist.

Edward usually had his right arm - the fake arm. A metal arm formed like any real flesh and bone, function-wise at least - just like his left leg. He never did mind the piece of technology: Automail. When he had it, he could protect himself from the others. Today on the other hand, he yelled and threatened Dr.Fallor. The arm was taken away and he was now defenceless. 'Not totally' Edward thought smiling about the memory. Six against one, before they coordinated their attack Edward was able to take out two. That still left four against one. Four was enough to take him down. He was missing an arm; they already had the advantage.

Edward winces has he gets up off the floor. The door to his room is opening, and he could already guess who it would be. The last check-up for sleep time was not to long ago. The guards wouldn't care if he slept on the floor, if he was in his room everything's fine.

"Again? Edward." Edward looks to the man at the entrance of the door. Davis, Fallor's assistant was here to check-up on him. Davis was the only person on staff that didn't need guards close by, when dealing with test subjects. They all trust him. He treats them like humans. He was the one who insisted that the children be called by their name, and not by the designated numbers. Edward knew Davis was just a tactic to keep the kids sane. Now that they are older, he was the only person anyone was comfortable around. Even Edward had to admit to having this common feeling. Of course, Edward was the only person who didn't want to be comfortable around Davis. Davis only showed his true self to Edward, because - as Davis has stated - Edward was beautiful.

AN: It may be a while for me to write the next chapter considering I have IB exam coming up. So patiently wait, please.