North City, North Area, Amestris; 1654.

An unshaven, roughened young man with tousled dark hair was led naked in the cold weather characteristic of these northern lands, a rope around its neck and hands tied behind his back. An officer in the Amestrian military blues stood on the platform and, when the young man reached his side, drew out a sheet of paper and announced in a booming voice the crimes listed against him: instigation against the State, responsible for the deaths of at least 20 Amestrian officers, destruction of state property, and resistance against the Amestrian government.

Behind the convict, another soldier forced him to his knees as the one who'd read his crimes asked him if he had any final words. Burning black eyes set firmly on the soldier as he gave his answer in a heavily-accented Amestrian.

"I was born Kossacky and am proud to die Kossacky. I regret nothing."

A rough boot on his back shoved him to the platform floor, making his chin slam on it. A pair of soldiers forced his legs open and the other keeping a firm boot on his back. Two more soldiers approached from behind with a sharp wooden stake and positioned it between his splayed legs. The convict closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer for strength only a moment before the stake was driven into his body.

East City HQ, 1914

All heads snapped up to attention at the brisk knock at the office door. The Colonel cleared his throat and called out for them to enter; the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Hawkeye, accompanied by a younger man with neatly-combed dark honey blond hair dressed in Amestris' characteristic military blues. Roy Mustang sighed mentally—if he'd been dreading this addition to the team before, he was beginning to regret it upon confirming with his eyes that, just as Hughes had mentioned, the newcomer looked the part of the perfect soldier. Might as well get this over with, thought Mustang as the pair reached his desk and the newbie snapped a crisp salute, which he waved away.

"Colonel, sir," started Hawkeye. "May I introduce you to First Lieutenant Zeroun Lang, our transferee from South City. Lieutenant Lang, this is our commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang."

"Thank you, Hawkeye." The Colonel paused a moment to gauge the young man, who held his gaze levelly with a neutral expression on his face. Apparently satisfied with whatever he was looking for, Mustang leaned back on his chair and nodded. "Welcome to my team, Lieutenant Lang. I have heard good things about you and hope you live up to the expectations. If you have any questions about your duties, please refer to Lieutenant Hawkeye. I wish you best of luck in your new assignment."

The lieutenant clicked his heels together and saluted, saying, "Thank you, sir. I will work hard." Hawkeye turned away, and he followed, being introduced to Breda, Havoc, Fuery and Falman—and Black Hayate, who sniffed at his hand for a moment before rubbing its head against it, asking to be petted. With them gone, the Flame Alchemist swiveled in his seat to face the large windows behind him, his hands raised in a contemplative gesture as he reviewed his brief introduction to the newest member of his team. Added by Grumman himself, he thought. What is that old fox up to? "Never look a gift horse in the mouth," he said when I questioned him the first time. I might have to give him another visit…

Stretching lazily, Mustang rose from his seat and walked toward the door, dismissing his staff for lunch and announcing to his remaining subordinates he was headed to pay a visit to Old Grumman. He'd face Hawkeye's wrath when he returned—whenever they finished their chess game. Which, judging by the time, would be after lunch.

The men lost no time in filing behind their superior and making their way down to the cafeteria. Leaving the lunch line, they surveyed the tables for an empty seat. Havoc grinned and pointed with his chin. "Hey guys, there's a few empty spots by the noobster. Hey, Lieutenant Newbie! Save us three spots, will ya?" Breda huffed at Havoc's uncreative nickname and followed him with Fuery and Falman at his heels. The new lieutenant looked up from his tray at the approaching men and offered a civil yet friendly smile.

"Suit yourselves," he replied and motioned for them to take the available seats at the table. Once they were all seated, he added, "Let me see if I remember right: Lieutenant Havoc, Lieutenant Breda, Sergeant Fuery and Warrant Officer Falman. Did I get it?" The men nodded in response, some more enthusiastically than others, and the transferee's smile widened. "Well, I'm Zeroun Lang, pleased to meet you. Again. I do hope the 'newbie' title will fade away with time."

Havoc chuckled sheepishly and answered, "Well, yeah. I'm not real good at memorizing. Hell, I'm not even the smartest lad out there, but I've got my good points. You into girls?" At this, Breda sputtered over his juice and broke into a half-choked roaring laugh. Fuery blushed and Lang grinned impishly at the poor wording as Falman got ready to lecture Havoc on the correct phrasing when it dawned on him exactly what he had implied.

"Uh… Ah! No, no! I mean, of course I didn't mean to say that. I mean, uh, um—"

Lang waved his hand dismissively. "I got it the first time. Yes, I'm into girls; no, I'm not on the prowl. I'm happily leashed, thank you very much."

Havoc's face fell momentarily before they were surprised by a certain Lieutenant Colonel's sudden appearance, who had pushed Havoc aside and squeezed in between him and Breda to grab Lang's hand and give it an overly-enthusiastic shake. "Hello, hello!" he greeted in a sing-song voice. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, Intel Department at Central, out east for a few days; and you must be Mustang's new puppy. Pleased to meet you, pleased to meet you. Now…" Mustang's men groaned, and Lang's eyes wandered to see their horrified expressions, his face betraying his confusion.

"Not again—" moaned Havoc.

"Colonel Hughes, I don't think he wants to—" stuttered Fuery.

"The man's having lunch, for goodness' sake!" exclaimed Breda at the same time as his companions, to no avail. The evil glimmer appeared in Hughes' eyes before he dramatically flashed a photo album in the transferee's face, taking him by surprise, and his face morphed into an expression of stupid bliss.

"Behold my lovely Elysia, who's turning three!" The men's groans amplified with mumbles of annoyance. Zeroun blinked a few times and reached for the album, looking at the pictures of an adorable toddler whose only shared feature with her father were their intelligent olive green eyes. He perused the album calmly and handed it to the Lieutenant Colonel once he finished. "So, what do you think? Is she a pretty thing, or what?"

He smiled politely in return. "She's a precious girl, Colonel. She seems to be quite precocious—reminds me of a boy I met on the train here. You do well to be proud of her." At his praise, Hughes was flattered beyond relief and began mumbling nonsense about his beautiful angel Elysia, making Lang chuckle as he returned to finishing his meal.

Falman cast a look at his watch and announced lunchtime was almost over and they should return to the office. Breda looked across the table at Lang as they rose and asked if he'd go back with them; the new lieutenant shook his head, mentioning he was supposed to meet Lieutenant Hawkeye at Archives to help her classify some items. Zeroun voiced his farewell to Hughes, who continued in his fantasy world and seemed to barely notice his departure; the senior's expression changed immediately once he was out of earshot, as he focused serious olive eyes on his retreating back.

"Well, lieutenant," muttered he. "I like you, but I'm still keeping my eyes on you for a while longer. We'll see if you can be trusted."

North City, North Area, Amestris; 1654.

Nearly half an hour in, a drizzle started falling and quickly changed into a furious, icy storm. Civilians and soldiers alike had abandoned the plaza, knowing for certain that the impaled convict wouldn't last long. Thunder rumbled as a tall man dressed in a black trench coat with a black cordobés hat on his head walked up the platform steps and stopped near the convict's earshot. He placed a large hand gently on the young man's forehead and said, "No matter what you have done, no one should die alone. You should not die alone." Tears escaped the young convict's eyes, eyes full of fear of dying and suffering.

There was a pause as the rain continued falling before the stranger explained, in a few words, that the expansion of Amestris and the destruction of the Kossacky tribes was all part of a greater plan by a fearsome power. "Would you accept my lady's Temperance to defeat him when the time comes?" His answer came in the form of a trembling grasp of his trench coat, determination mixed with pain in the young man's dark eyes. The stranger removed his hand from his forehead and brought out a vial; opening the cork, he warned, "It will be uncomfortable," then tipped it into the dying man's mouth. The man convulsed almost immediately for nearly a minute before growing deathly still; a faint red light flashed, indicating an alchemical reaction taking place, and revealed the young man freed from the stake and completely healed.

The stranger handed him his trench coat to cover himself, indicating his name is Leonidas George. The young man looked bewildered at his miraculous healing but managed to thank him in Amestrian. Leonidas shook his head and replied, "Temperance chose you, not I." Leonidas escorted him down the platform while adding, "We must travel to Rush Valley immediately to begin your training. Pardon me, but what is your name?"

The former convict, now a human-based homunculus, looked up at the dark sky and answered. "Zeroun Harbuz."