Important Notice: This is a new and improved version of 'Subordinate Passion'. It's pretty much the same story, but I've rewritten it because I pretty much can't stand my old writing style. I'm still not pleased with the way I write, but I'm more satisfied with it than I was a few years ago! Ahem, anyway! I'm sorry for deleting the other chapters, my older reviewers! Mind you, I doubt any of you remember them anyway! This is the first chapter I've posted on for... whew, how long? Two years? Maybe less than that. Well, I hope you enjoy, everyone! Please leave lovely constructive reviews and whatnot so I can be motivated to move from my bed and actually write something. Enjoy!

Out of the chaotic heavens came never-ending droplets of dark and cold rain, crashing into the concrete pavements and brick buildings of Central City. Although it was arguably one of the biggest and most thriving cities in Amestris, Central now resembled a ghost town. Not a single civilian dared to leave their homes to venture out into the storm – such an act would be foolish. The streets and roads were silent except for the continuously-flowing rain and violent rumbles of thunder. It was nearing midnight, and the freezing January air left extraordinary frosty patterns on each and every window in the city. Frozen dewdrops clung to the blades of grass before the Central Military Command Headquarters as an arctic wind blew through the city. The sharp, cold air meant that snow was on its way, from the distant Briggs mountain range. Most homes were dark, and everyone was asleep in their beds – save for one man.

Colonel Roy Mustang yawned loudly, covering his open mouth with his white gloved hand. He had been standing in the window for – what? Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Rain had never been one of the Colonel's favourite things. But he didn't hate it either. The way it danced and twirled carelessly in the sky reminded him of his previous life as an innocent young boy, with hopes and dreams of becoming a respected leader of his beloved Amestris. The way it crashed into the many obstacles of its path caused him to jerk back into the harsh reality.

The Colonel sighed. He could never decide if he liked rain or not. It both pleased and displeased him. He leaned against the window pane, which creaked ominously. He pulled away again and frowned, looking around the office. Everything's falling apart in this room, he thought, walking slowly around the various desks. A broken oil lantern sat self-consciously on a subordinate's desk, and the carpet around the door was frayed and tattered. The Colonel found himself wishing he was back in his own, plush office. He was furious with himself for carelessly clicking his fingers whilst on the phone with a certain soldier (who kept pestering him to find a girl and get married) a few days earlier. His stupid actions had caused his entire office to catch on fire. It was lucky that his office was on the ground floor, or else leaping through the window would have been a very silly thing to do.

"Really, Roy," Maes Hughes had said over the phone in his usual happy tone. "It's time for you to settle down! If you want to experience happiness, you need to find a good wife and start a family together."

"For the last time, Maes, stop calling me while I'm at work."

"You need to find a special someone, if you get my drift! A special woman; or even a special man! Whatever floats your boat, Roy! But Gracia is so lovely, Roy, and my little Elysia is as sweet as a button!"

The Lieutenant Colonel went on and on and on and on, until Mustang finally lost his sanity and decided to find out once and for all whether or not it was possible to send a ball of fire through a phone line. Apparently, it wasn't. And now, here he was – stuck without an office, by himself at midnight. 'I need to get a life,' he thought, laughing humourlessly as he sat down on one of the leather sofas. He reclined, and stared up at the colourless walls. Although the office was getting more terrible by the day, his subordinates tried their best to make it look homey. A few framed photographs were perched on the desks, with family members of his soldiers smiling out at Roy. A larger photograph hung from the wall, polished and shining because it had only been hung there a few days earlier.

The photograph featured Mustang and his subordinates in their office, and instead of sitting stiffly with false smiles and awkward poses, this photo showed the soldiers on a typical day in the HQ. Master Sergeant Kain Fuery was sitting by his desk, fixing broken surveillance equipment with one hand and rubbing a black and white dog's underside with the other. Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda was punching the air victoriously while Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc stared in disbelief at the chessboard before him. Warrant Officer Vato Falman stood behind Havoc, ready to restrain the man in case he decided to lash out at the cocky Breda. First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was standing before the window in the background, her back to the others as she glanced at the Colonel, who was slumped in his chair and clearly abusing his work by dozing in his chair, fast asleep. Through the window, the blurred figure of Lieutenant Colonel Karashi Jarrett could be seen stretching his long body on the grass before the HQ, appreciating the autumn sun while his loose canines ran freely across the lawn, chasing a certain Major Edward Elric and nipping at his leather boots as he freaked out. A giant suit of armour named Alphonse Elric could be seen glaring at Karashi Jarrett for abusing his duties, and clenching his metallic knuckles, while Major Alex Armstrong posed in the background, flexing his muscles. He didn't know he was being photographed; he was simply posing out of pure boredom. The photograph had been taken by Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, and he had accidentally placed his thumb on the camera lens. His thumb covered part of First Lieutenant Derek Noir-Andrew's grotesquely disfigured face as the half-metal young man snapped something at Master Sergeant Isadora Liner, who frowned at her angry superior as she swung a silver spanner in her hand.

The photograph was terrible, concluded Mustang with an amused smile creeping on his face. But it showed the entertaining side of the Military – if there was one. He had seen his fair share of blood, death and burning corpses over his decade as a soldier. Now, as a higher-ranking Colonel, he tended to stray from the battlefield and reside in the Central HQ with his subordinates, struggling to erase the memories of all the innocent people he had been forced to murder by his higher-ups. Just that morning, Maes Hughes had been called out to investigate another crime scene; the third that week. Another bloody corpse of a State Alchemist had been found slumped in an alleyway, its insides splattered all over the dank walls. Edward Elric had happened to see the culprit rush away, but everyone knew who the murderer was without someone to prove it.

"Scar," Edward had hissed furiously, stomping into the office and slamming the door behind him. No one said a word as the young alchemist added lowly, "The same alley. The same alley where he killed Nina." Scar of Ishvala was a known State Alchemist-murderer, and had killed Brigadier General Basque Grand, a famed and legendary alchemist who, albeit cold, had been a brilliant man. Scar had even tried to murder Edward Elric, but the youngster had escaped with no injuries, but his metal arm had been crushed into pieces. Young Nina, however, had not been as lucky with her life. She had been transmuted with the body of her dog – by her own father. Her sick, twisted body had escaped onto the streets, where Scar took pity on her and ended her life. Edward did not see Scar's act as kindness. He saw it as a cruel, horrid murder, and would not rest until Scar was behind bars, or dead. It had been three or four years since Nina Tucker's death, yet Edward still returned to Central every few months to help with the capture of Scar of Ishvala.

Mustang sighed, and smiled softly at the amateur photograph on the wall. It truly was nice to see the lighter side of the dark Military. He yawned and stretched on the tattered old sofa; it had grown soft and shapeless after years of bearing the weight of several resting soldiers, but it was comfortable enough for Mustang. But as he nestled his weary body into the sofa, he found himself sitting up suddenly and hissing in pain as his stomach flared up. He took in a sharp intake of breath and hissed again – it was getting worse.

The Colonel was famed for his fiery techniques and heroic antics; he was often referred to as the Flame Alchemist, or the Hero of Ishvala. His talent with corrupting fire was near-legendary, yet only a handful of people knew of his forbidden interest in the shunned human transmutation. And no one knew of his failed attempt at bringing a human back from beyond the grave. The innocent attempt had gone disastrously wrong, and had cost Mustang dearly. Ever since the day, nine years ago, his body had been slowly deteriorating, although it was barely noticeable – at first. Recently, however, Mustang had grown weaker yet, and the occasional stomach ache was becoming more and more frequent, and harder and harder to hide from his subordinates. True to her name, Riza Hawkeye had noticed his bad condition, and had often urged him to go and see a doctor. Mustang always said that he would never allow a doctor to mess about with his insides.

Slowly, Mustang lay down again, trying to ignore the pain. It was starting to fade away now, anyway. He really should be home by now, but he was so tired... However, if Hawkeye found him sleeping in the office (again), she would shoot him into next Tuesday. Mustang sighed; the pain was almost gone already. He may as well walk home before the pain returned-

A violent spray of blood came pouring from his mouth as Mustang coughed furiously. Blood was sent over his gloved hands as he tried to stop himself, but just couldn't. His stomach, lungs – everything burned. He couldn't breathe; the blood was blocking his airways and his vision was becoming blurred. He tried to stagger onto his legs, but they buckled and he collapsed to the carpet, his body shaking violently as blood seeped across the brown carpet. "Oh God," hissed Mustang, before everything became black and his body fell limply into a pool of his own blood.