Fullmetal Alchemist: Golden Age

April 22nd, 1922

An unbearable gray. Sluggish, without energy. Stalled. Recalcitrant. Obstinate. Gray. Central's gone foggy again. On the streets, through the cafe windows, and from behind the windshields of the new model cars, now filling the roads in ever increasing numbers. Even in the horns of the main street jazz group, playing a deep blues song to usher in a morning no one wants to see.

It's that kind of morning in Central. A lethargic and unmoved day, lacking energy or promise. It's odd then, that today is as important as it is. That on today of all days, the military has decided to parade its newest gadget.

A shallow and manipulative ploy, of course. Just another attempt to drum up support for that endless Xingese war. Nothing like a fancy new weapon to lift the spirits of John Q. Public enough to buy more war bonds.

Outside of Central Headquarters, crowds are gathering, soldiers, civilians and protesters. While the citizens are just here to watch the show, the civilians have come for a riot. They carry signs bearing messages like "Feed Your Family, Not The Dogs" and "Give Us Food, Not Guns!". They're dressed for the long haul, covered in sweaters and scarves of bright red and other enraged colors, and they carry themselves with as much indignation as they can muster.

But the soldiers pay it no mind. All it is is the rambling of children, sheltered infants who haven't had to make the sacrifices they have on their behalf. Just as the civilians refuse to understand their reasons, they refuse to understand theirs. It's a mutual philosophical stalemate, one which has been perpetuated in this country ever since Amestrian soldiers first set foot in Xing.

But today, hopes the Fuhrer, that all changes. Fuhrer Armstrong, known to her former troops as Major General Olivier Armstrong, parades her way through the halls of the military's primary R&D department, eager to see everything progressing smoothly. Nothing can go wrong today. Nothing will go wrong today. She'd make sure of it with this.

"Marcus, how goes the prototype?" She promptly and frankly addresses the head of R&D.

"All is moving according to schedule. The prototype has been disassembled, cleaned, reassembled, brushed up, and prepared for the demonstration. Testing concluded yesterday. Complete success, on all accounts."

"Good. We need only the best today." She looked down into the loading bay where the craft was being prepped. R&D's newest invention, and it was a goddamn flying machine. Two-man cockpit, improved aerodynamic design with a lightweight frame. Built with speed in mind, perfect for delivering bombs, packages, and a well-placed eye in the sky. It was without a doubt the finest piece of equipment that their military had seen in recent years. And if all went well, it's use wouldn't stay strictly military for long. No, this technology would revolutionize transport. It'd be everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. This small bullet-plane was just the start. But it wouldn't go anywhere if today didn't go off without a hitch.

She broke eye contact with the thing, and turned her back to Marcus House. This was where she and it parted ways. With a few parting words to Marcus and a threat about what would happen should he fail her, the Fuhrer moved along to the next item on her agenda. The new State Alchemists.

Breaking into the conference room with all of the typical bravado passed down through the Armstrong family for generations, Olivier Armstrong, no, Fuhrer Armstrong laid her eyes on the State Alchemists' fresh meat. Picking up a stack of papers with all the relevant information, she scanned it quickly, and then turned her steely gaze to the new recruits.

"So, who exactly are you?"

"I'm Felaria Noah Thatchet, uh.." she stuttered. The atmosphere became thick. Her throat constricted and she could hardly believe. This overwhelming pressure that just pushed against her body. If she had this kind of trouble now, what would happen down the road? No, she couldn't think that. Her dad was harsh, she made it through that hell called training so this is nothing. She could do it, as long as she kept her eye on the prize, Felaria could do anything no matter the obstacle.

"I'm the daughter of Cross Thatchet, the former Cruel Blade Alchemist." her words sputtered off and died. Cruel Blade Alchemist, she said. Was she proud to be the offspring of a man with that title? She froze, but then affirmed herself. It was just words, her father never abused or spoiled her. It was just a title.

Just a title..., the thought continued even after she convinced herself. No, it was fine, it was nothing to worry about. She repeated that over and over in her head as if she was a broken record.

Roderick looked up from the book he was reading. He stood on attention as the Fuhrer arrived.

"I am Roderick von Starke. The Steel Heart Alchemist. I would like to say that I support you wholeheartedly, ma'am."

The young man did not look like much, with his glasses and books, and with a violin tucked underneath his arms.

But this man had the dubious honor of being known as the most sadistic military trainer in the country.

The blond woman, sitting at ease and looking at the Fuhrer with a spark of interest in her otherwise relaxed expression spoke up next "Elisabeth Archer, I have no fancy title or anything else to my name, only my results on your examinations"

Felicia nodded in greeting to the Fuhrer.

"Felicia Breten. No title yet," she added, smiling slightly. The smile faded some as she scanned the crowds of protesters. It wasn't like she didn't sympathize, but...

"Cruel Blade's daughter, huh?" Olivier said, judging the girl silently. She certainly didn't look the type. She looked hesitant. Weak. Nothing like her father. Which was certainly a shame. They could use more Cruel Blades.

Next she eyed the one called Archer. This one had confidence. Going by the reports, she could back it up with results. "Yes, it certainly seems you've done well," she said, complimenting her. "However, don't let it go to your head. In this country, we all have a part to play. Some of us are cogs in the machine, and some of us turn the crank. But regardless of your position, your importance remains uniform. Each piece, from the operator to the smallest bolt, needs to be functioning properly for the machine to run. And if you're not doing your job, I'll consider you a defective part, and you will be replaced regardless of reputation."

She turned her attention to the whole group. "Work hard. Bring me results. This country has not needed you more than it does now, and if you disappoint me with subpar efforts, you're not the only one who will suffer. I should not need to tell you the life of a State Alchemist is a privileged one, and in exchange for that privilege, I expect your everything. Do I make myself clear?"

Outside, room is cleared for a makeshift runway. What a runway is is news to the people of Central though, so puzzled looks abound from the crowd. What could possibly require so much space?

Oh wow, she already compared us to cogs in a giant machine. As her reputation says, this Fuhrer doesn't pull any punches, does she? Thought Archer with quite a bit of humor, her amusement reflecting on her face.

Still, that didn't sit too badly with her. If anything it gave her a good idea of what to expect. Armstrong was not to be messed with if possible. As for turning in results... Well, Archer could count with one finger the things to the which she had not found an answer for eventually. She could only hope the military could bring her challenges to really make it worth the while.

Archer then sat up a tad straighter and looking at the Fuhrer, raised one hand to her forehead in salute as she said "Aye, Aye, Madam"

The aged doctor stared out of his consultation room at the ruckus in the central square. The crowds were parting to reveal a long stretch of space - is that a ramp? - and a strange winged contraption.

He could guess what those fool soldiers were trying to do. "If Man were meant to fly, God would have filled him with gas," Mo Sheng grumbled - not that anyone heard him in the empty room. With the rising tensions in Amestris over the Drachma conflict, and the suspicious eyes that citizens had for the Xingese, he wasn't surprised that business had dropped recently. He counted his blessings; at least he wasn't in an internment camp yet. Not like the Ishvalans.

He hoped his services wouldn't be needed, but began packing his bag just in case. Nothing good ever came of those newfangled contraptions.

edited 4th Jun '12 9:47:08 AM by Pyrite

Lok eyed the winged machine with mild interest and a healthy dose of suspicion.

"Well It's not like crazier things aren't already possible, and it would be wonderful to be as free as a bird."

Still, if they really could develop some fast moving flying machine, all it would mean in the end is another new way to kill people. Death would drop from the skies and blood and metal would pour down like rain. It was the nature of people to seek after power, even if it meant turning wonderful dreams like flight into something dark and cruel.

He tried to stay out of the way of the protestors and towards the less angry portion of the crowd that was simply here to watch, grinning behind his clownish makeup and holding up a brightly colored sign that read:

"One Man Circus: Magic, Laughter and Entertainment Guaranteed."

edited 5th Jun '12 11:47:43 AM by Dblade26

"I'll do my best to measure up to-" Felaria spoke but stopped herself. Why is she holding herself to the standards set forth by her father, the precedant? The young girl didn't have to follow anything. Felaria was Felaria and her father was Cross Thatchet. Two different people who only share a last name and blood. That's all, they're different as night and day. "I'll do my best." she mumbled, looking away and to the ground.

Felicia nodded, her eyes dark and serious. She would do her best as an alchemist—and hopefully, as a person too. This seemed the best way for her to pay the kindness of those who raised her forward.

"Understood, ma'm. I will do my best."

After a firm nod, her eyes wandered to survey the runway with interest. A flying machine...

"Yes Ma'am, I will not let you down."

He looked at the other new alchemists. Rookies? He wondered if the Fuhrer would let him "train" them...

Then he noticed the flying machine.

"That's it, right? The new machine..."

From a library a few blocks from the place where the ramp is being set up, Sarren emerges with respectable pile of thick books on his arms and an annoyed expression on his face. He thought the the life on the institute was going to be more enlightening, instead he has been treated as a mere errand boy by his superiors.

He sighs as a crowd move towards the front of the Central HQ. Another protest? he wondered.

"Excuse me? What is going on?" he asks to a man passing by.

"Don't you know? The military is showing off their new prototype!" the man says without stopping.

A slight smile formed on his face, the books could wait. He had been working nonstop for the last couple of weeks, and he deserved to be treated to a little show. With that thought on mind he made his way to the ramp, his trusty plate on the pocket of his coat swinging gently against his leg

edited 5th Jun '12 9:10:53 PM by Sanojutsu

David Smith's introduction:

"The new and old State Alchemists could soon hear the sound of people gasping and groaning, as a young figure made its way through the crowd. Wearing a white lab coat and a military uniform under it, the figure apologised everytime he bumped into someone, no matter who that person was. It took him a while, but he eventually reached up with the Fuhrer, and immediately saluted her- he had long, black hair, tied up in a ponytail. He didn't seem that strong, but he was tall and skinny. His face was young and innocent, and one could see minor scars on his left cheek. He wore glasses, but the right lens of his glasses had a small crack, something he probably didn't notice. Pulling out a folded piece of paper from one of his coat's pockets, he turned to the Fuhrer:

"Right, we're all ready, ma'am. The weather isn't on our side, but we prepared for this- we installed a few spotlights on the ramp and on the machine, and we're ready to take it out of the hangar. There isn't much wind outside, so flying shouldn't be a problem—"

He stopped talking once he realized he was in front of the new recruits. He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes and looking at them again. Once he noticed that they were wearing the "brand new State Alchemist" badge, he grinned, and began to shake their hands, excitedly saying:

"Oh, newbies! I love newbies. They're always so promising, so fun to look at! I hope you guys will do well... oh, almost forgot. I'm David Smith, R&D Department. Oh, fresh meat! Just for the record, I don't think you guys should be called fresh meat, but the boss calls new people fresh meat."

Outside, soldiers began installing small spotlights along the ramp, clearing its path and placing a small fence between the ramp and the citizens. A soldier stepped on to the small stage set for the Fuhrer, and spoke, in an almost intimidated voice:

"Citizens of Central. Please, we ask all of you to stay away from the ramp. Our demonstration will begin soon."

A protester quickly answered: "Only when you guys stay away from Xing!", and the crowd soon resumed their chant. The soldier simply sighed and stepped down, joining his comrades in installing the spotlight. The protesters were now handing out flyers telling the "poor, uninformed" citizens all about the "terrors of war", including realistic drawings of poor Xingese citizens being tortured. One of them even shoved a flyer in Lok's face, saying:

"Join the Organization! We fight for peace and justice! End the useless Xing war!"

edited 6th Jun '12 6:24:28 AM by Stratofarius

Fuhrer Armstrong hmphed in approval. "Very well, I leave them in your hands. See to it they're put to work immediately." And then she left, slamming the door in her usual manner.

From there, she made her way to the stage outside, embracing the cold Central morning like a proper Briggs soldier. With a staunch iron stance and give 'em hell attitude. Taking the mic, she began her address to the people.

"I'm not here to make any kind of fancy speech. So if that's why you've come, then go home! Today isn't about me! It's about the future! And I'm telling you now, the future... is ours!"

It was then the prototype revealed itself, appearing at the top of the ramp like a king ready to address his subjects. It was a sleek, elegant thing, with a smooth design complimenting its swiftness and maneuverability, but its gunmetal grey proved unflattering for such a fanciful machine. Then again, it wasn't supposed to be a fantasy. The mounted machine guns proved that much. The pilot inside gives a thumbs up, fully aware of what happens now. It was time to fly or die.

Slowly, the machine began to inch forward. One inch, two inches, three, until finally it hung on the breaking point, equilibrium between grounded safety, and ramp-guided free-fall. Time slowed down as that final inch was crossed, and then snapped back like a rubber band as gravity quickly took over, sending the machine down the length of the ramp. Before anyone could protest, the machine had reached the end, and on momentum alone, flew into the sky. And miraculously, above all precedent and common sense, stayed there. They had achieved a successful flight.

The machine banked and turned and flitted about, proving it was as maneuverable as it looked, flying high above Central at incredible speeds. It looked like a bird, making its home in the skies like all birds do, as if it was only natural. It felt, to the pilot and the people, like it should never come down now that it had risen so high.

Even Fuhrer Armstrong, Amestris' fearless leader and former Iron Wall of Briggs, could not help but look on with some sense of wonderment and satisfaction. Recomposing herself quickly, she made her finishing statement.

"Know this! The war will end! We will not surrender to those Drachma dogs! We will secure Xing once more, and bring peace to both our homes! This I swear to you, as a soldier and your leader! We will not be defeated! For the future is ours!"

Lok was about to speak to the protestor when the flying machine suddenly revealed itself. Internally, his heart sank as he saw the mounted machine guns that basically confirmed his suspicions that this magnificent device would soon become just another weapon of war. Even the sight of the machine and its pilot taking triumphantly to the air for the first time did little to lighten his mood.

Outwardly, he kept his constant smile on and turned back to the semi-ranting protestor

"My my, how desperate this "Organization" must be if it is turning to the likes of lowly street performers such as I for new recruits? Or perhaps you've all become so depressed by protesting and drawing these gloomy pictures of war that you need a clown to cheer you up? If that's the case then I would be absolutely delighted to offer my meagre services, truly!"

Lok spoke enthusiastically and without cruelty, despite the possibly mocking nature of his first few statements.

Such unceasing, nonchalant joy was the mark of a clown.

edited 6th Jun '12 9:01:18 AM by Dblade26

Mo Sheng walked out into the sunlight, ignoring the mixed reaction from the people whom he passed. Some - mostly the protesters - favoured him with sympathetic looks, but the majority shot wary, suspicious glances at the foreigner.

"Peace and justice?" "The future is ours?" Bullshit, he thought. The future is decided by the Mandate of Heaven, and you'd have better luck catching moonlight in your palm - not even Emperor Yao could do that.

He wondered how His Majesty was faring, now that his Empire was being torn apart by the ongoing war. The promise of the first few years of his reign had devolved into near-anarchy as Amestris and Drachma tore at the very flesh of Xing like starving beasts. There were even rumours among the expatriates that the strange item Emperor Yao brought back from the West had caused the Mandate of Heaven to depart from his rule.

Unthinkable.

And yet he thought it.

He looked up at the flying machine, now soaring and twirling in the sky in defiance of gravity. Silhouetted by the sun, it almost seemed like the legendary phoenix that the Emperor had adopted as his motif. An omen, perhaps, but an unclear one - either Xing would be reborn, or it would go down in flames.

He stepped closer to the crowd, finding before him a particularly incongruous sight - a clown, of all people, was being accosted by one of the protesters.

"...I would be absolutely delighted to offer my meagre services, truly!"

There was no mistaking the accent behind the greasepaint, and Mo Sheng muttered gruffly in Xingese, "<I don't see why they need another fool. They're doing just fine making asses of themselves without your help.>"

Archer smiled, not minding too much being called fresh meat "Yo, Smith. So you're the one in charge of all the good toys in the military?"

The protestor, however, didn't look back at the flying machine, even if the crowd was now doing what could only be described as a mix of "ooooh", "aaaah" and cheers. The protesters had stopped their grating chant and were staring at the flying machine with childlike wonder. Once Mo Sheng approached the street performer's stage, the protestor continued:

"It's not about having more people, man!", he continued, waving the flyer around. "The government hides information from the people! They don't tell you everything they know! This war is ridiculous- the military is destroying Xing, and the poor Emperor can't do a thing! That's why we, Amestrians, must unite and fight against the—"

He turned around, almost as if expecting a crowd to cheer and back him up in the protest, but once he spotted the flying machine, he immediately dropped the panflet, staring at it with an open mouth and widened eyes.

"Oh, ho ho! Look at it go!"

All of the members at the conference room were now at the windows, watching the demonstration of the flying machine. However, as they were all soldiers, and some of them had subordinates in the room, all they could do was nod and show mild excitement. David, however, was going all-out, clapping, cheering, and congratulating himself and the R&D department. He took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt, and looked back, with a smile, at Archer:

"I'm just one of the many workers at the department. And that flying machine out there? That was my design. Yeah, I know, don't need to say it, it's the greatest thing since we began selling the picture screens, but, guess who also worked on the picture screens?"

As he mouthed the word "me" and pointed at himself with pride, some of the soldiers started leaving the room, having to actually work. It was another normal Thursday in Central, of course, and that meant more paperwork, more calls, and more training. David continued to laugh to himself, and then looked at the folded piece of paper:

"Right, right, I have the new assignments for Faleria Thatchet, Elisabeth Archer, Roderick von Starke and Felicia Breten. Are you guys here?"

"I'm here. I'll do what I'm ordered." replied Roderick.

He was quite impressed at the demonstration, but chose not to comment on it.

The young State Alchemist perked up at the new arrival. "Uh.. hello." she shook the Daniel's hand and then took a light step back. The entire day, this was an entirely new experience for her. She wanted to vanish and just poof into thin air and forget all about today and go back home. To be dust in the wind. That wouldn't be so bad, not at all. She could just exist that way! Totally nicer than- wait...

"Huh?" Faleria's eyes widened. Wait, she was acknowledged? Immediately that killed her dream of just pulling herself out of this situation. She didn't expect this stress, this pressure to feel so heavy. She couldn't bear it for another second! "Uh..." she began, losing her words before she even spoke. "Yes..." her lips moved, but not a word left her mouth.

"YES! I'm here, I'm Faleria Thatchet!" and the pressure caused her to burst.

I... was a bit too loud...

Sarren looked in awe, almost dropping his books, towards the machine flying int he sky. Its truly amazing what the human being can accomplish. Too bad about the weather though, he considered climbing on a rooftop or boost himself up with a column to get a better view, but doing so in military presence would very easily misinterpreted as an act of riot, so he dropped the idea.

He has amused that everybody, even the protesters, were so entranced with the military's little show.

edited 6th Jun '12 6:14:57 PM by Sanojutsu

<"Now that he's ceased his outraged jabbering, I can mention that I never intended to join him. Politics are something I try to avoid these days and-"> as he turned to face the old man recognition lit his face behind the clown paint but was then quickly masked.

<"Anyway, I'm just looking for honest work wherever I can find it. After all, the old sages say a man will never be punished for making others die of laughter.">

He had been considering that saying for some time now, specifically as it applied to himself and his life.

edited 6th Jun '12 6:33:12 PM by Dblade26

Felicia nodded, partially raising one of her hands.

"Felicia Breten. What do you need?" she asked, almost absently as she continued to watch the demonstration, only reluctantly pulling her eyes away to look over at the scientist who had spoken.

Mo Sheng nodded, his face a mask of concentrated grumpiness, and picked the fallen pamphlet up. "<It is good to meet a fellow countryman in this place. And even if the sages said a lot of stupid things, I agree with you on that last part; it's a step up from crashing and burning in one of those, anyway.>"

His eyes scanned the pamphlet even as he continued, "<I run the practice across the street. If you ever need any medical attention, feel free to visit - but preferably without the clown makeup.>"