Title: The Yock Island Correctional School
Characters:
Oh, pretty much everyone ever mentioned in the series; but it really centers around Al, Ed, and Roy.
Summary: For decades the Yock Island Correction School has taken in troubled youths and put them on the path of good. But all good things must come to an end, as must the bad. And it is from the inside that they crumble.
Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, then I wouldn't be poor and this wouldn't be a fanfic.
Rating: R/M
Warnings: AU; future violence, shounen ai, and possible yaoi; will definately include Ed/Roy and Ed/Al (not incestuously though), shooting for eventual Ed/Roy/Al; possible Fury/Schieska; other pairings to work themselves out as we go.
Notes: Okay, so this is a story that I'd been sitting on for the longest time but hadn't been doing anything with it. So, I guess this is technically a fusion 'cause this storyline was meant to be an original story. Anyways, as mentioned, I'm definately including Ed/Roy and Ed/Al, not incestuously because they're not brothers in this universe, but I'm shooting for Ed/Roy/Al, even if it just comes in in the end. Other pairings will probably include Hughes/Gracia, past-Hughes/Roy, Fury/Schieska, and I might pair the Tringhams up with someone (or each other...) depending on how things play out. I dunno, I'm kinda playing the details by ear.

Be forewarned, I'm hoping to make this into a very long fic (well, long for me, which would be more than two chapters, if you want to get down to it :P), and I'm not that great with updates. Hopefully though, since this story's been gnawing on me for forever, I'll be able to keep up momentum and inspiration!


Prologue: Yock Island and Head Mistress

The young boy looked thoroughly despondent as he watched the water lap lazily against the side of the small dinghy boat. It seemed so unusual; he had never been a very good swimmer, but he used to love sitting by the river back home. It had been his favorite way to relax, just watching the river flow by.

Now, however... Now...

"Scared?"

Why did everyone have to try and make conversation? The blonde frowned up at the man rowing the boat. He was somewhat muscular, too much so to be very attractive, not to mention the fact that he seemed to be missing a few teeth, and it didn't appear as if he or his clothes had seen a wash in... Well, longer than the boy liked to think.

"Don't worry," the man laughed, releasing one of the oars to slap the side of the boat, "She's sturdy."

His younger passenger rolled his eyes at the man, and he quickly took up the oar again.

"Well, come to think of it, I'd probably be a little scared too if I was in your shoes."

Still no answer.

"Say, kid, what's your name?"

Finally the blonde looked back up at the man again, seeming to consider actually answering the question. After a few long moments passed, however, he started to think that maybe he'd been wrong.

"Alphonse..."

It was the rower's turn to blink, though he smiled at his passenger -- Alphonse -- his semi-toothless smile. "Alphonse, huh? Mind if I call you 'Al'?" He took the boy's return to silence as a 'yes.' "So, what'd a shy kid like you do to end up headin' to a place like that?"

Alphonse looked over the man's shoulder where he'd nodded towards the massive concrete building sitting alone on its own island, secluded in the middle of the river they were rowing through. It was one of the ugliest buildings the boy had ever seen, he'd immediately decided. It was just a big cement box, attached to another cement box which was attached to yet another cement box. There weren't too many windows (two or three to each floor) and the foundation was so covered in algae that it was dyed an ugly olive green.

The island itself, even, wasn't in the least bit welcoming. There wasn't a tree to be seen and, where there should have been grass, there was a lawn of pebbles and sand. The only thing that appeared even remotely livable was a large pristine white house set just on the edge of the western shore. It looked like a large cottage and, from what little Alphonse had heard of the place, that could only be the home of the Head Master. After all, none of the students would ever be allowed to live in such a house.

He didn't realize until the boat lurched forward that he hadn't even bothered to refuse to answer the man's question. Somehow, without the boy even realizing it, the small little wooden boat had closed the distance to shore and the titanic cement building loomed over him like some unforgiving god waiting to swallow him whole for his sins against him.

"Hey," the rower called, tossing the blonde's trunk onto shore, "C'mon, Al; you don't wanna keep the Head Mistress waiting. She doesn't really like tardiness and, I dunno about you, but I don't wanna get on her bad side, if you know what I mean."

Regardless of the fact that Alphonse didn't really know what he meant, he climbed out of the boat, taking one last look at the river and the land beyond it, his home before all this had happened; he had the feeling that he wouldn't get the chance to see it again for a long time.


The pebbles crunched together beneath their feet as the semi-toothless rower led Alphonse away from the shore towards the mammoth buildings, sitting like a great stylized mountain range. It was a most depressing sight, and the blonde found his gaze wandering to the white house to their left.

It wasn't very far, perhaps a few hundred feet away from where they'd come to shore, and Alphonse could make out most of it. It was a rather grand-looking building, as far as residences went -- a great wraparound porch with stairs leading up to an awesome double-door entryway that had to be, by Alphonse's estimation, about seven feet tall. Five windows on the front face of the house and, it appeared, three floors. There was also another large window on the side that gave him at least a small view of the inside. What he could see certainly impressed him as much as the outside -- high ceilings, hardwood floors, large empty spaces that not even the amount of lavish and over-decorated furniture could fill up -- or, it would have, if he wasn't about to spend the next four years, at least, in what appeared to amount to a prison.

"Alphonse."

A deep female voice caught the boy's attention just before he ran into his escort's back. He hadn't been paying attention again, and, again, he found that his own personal musings had just brought him closer to this prison, his future "home." Ironic, he thought, when it was his musings that had led him here in the first place.

Glancing around the man's wide shoulders, Alphonse saw, for the first time, the woman they called Dante.

She was the cofounder of the...institution looming behind her and had run it since its opening, which anyone would believe just from looking at her. The Head Mistress was incredibly tall, for a woman, with an almost stately air about her. Long brown hair was piled loosely but elegantly atop her head in style popular quite a few decades ago, which was probably where she'd gotten her clothing from as well. Long sleeves, high necks, and long skirts with a lace shawl and gloves, and boots that didn't appear to be at all comfortable; it was as if she was trying to cover up every piece of flesh on her body. Unfortunately, however, her face was still exposed.

"Pretty" wasn't exactly the way to describe her, though ugly was quite an overstatement as well. Oh, the woman had wrinkles, as so many of the aging do. The problem was that she was smiling, but the lines on her face didn't match the expression.

They're frown lines... Alphonse realized.

This woman was smiling, but it didn't make it past her lips. There was something...disturbing, almost chilling, about her face, and the boy immediately decided that he didn't want to know what it was.

While Alphonse had been watching Dante, she'd been having a brief conversation with the boatman; it hadn't been all that interesting anyway, so he didn't care that he hadn't paid any attention to it. When the rower shoved the boy's trunk towards him however, and waved as he started back towards the boat, Alphonse was finally met with the reality of what he'd gotten himself into.

Left alone with Dante, his new Head Mistress, and the concrete monster just in back of her, a cold chill slid down the boy's spine. This place was dangerous -- probably just as dangerous as the woman before him -- and he wished to a god he wasn't even certain he believed in that he'd just decided to leave things be.

"Well, Alphonse," Dante said, her smooth alto voice as clear as any politicians, "Take your trunk and come with me. I'll show you to your room, and then it's up to you what becomes of you after that."

To be continued...