Okay, first off- to everybody who's been reading my Doctor Who story, it will be updated soon. I have been tremendously busy with actual real-life things.

And an explanation of why I'm putting that on hold to publish a new Fullmetal Alchemist story- this is in celebration of the new TV series, which started airing this past Sunday. I saw the new opening and just about had an orgasm, it was so awesome.

So, about this story. This takes place in a universe that is not quite the comic and not quite the TV show. I've pretty much thrown characters in here for as long as they're entertaining, because this is really just a silly humor story. Have fun.

It was a fantastic day.

Roy Mustang sang a little ditty to himself and did a happy jig as he stepped into his office that morning, earning him a set of confused looks from his subordinates.

"Looks like the Colonel's date went well," Breda muttered under his breath.

"I'm on the top of the world…"

"Man, does that guy ever strike out?" Falman wondered aloud.

"Looking down upon creation…"

"I dunno how the Colonel does it," Fuery lamented.

"And the only explanation I can find…"

Jean Havoc heaved a quiet sob.


Riza Hawkeye blinked politely.

"Fine day out today, gentlemen!" the Colonel boomed, stretching his arms over his head luxuriously. "Fantastic, even. Why, this is just the kinda day that makes you feel like rolling up your sleeves and getting down to work."

As one, the soldiers turned to look out the window. Out in front of Central Headquarters, the Elric Brothers were having a violent and extremely expensive-looking confrontation with what appeared to be a grotesquely obese man, a transvestite, and a whore. There was a the faint sound of Fullmetal's hands coming together, and then the top half of the hooker exploded, only to reform seconds later.

"Why, you know what?" the Flame Alchemist continued, "I do believe that today I might just sit down and get that that big pile of paperwork out of my inbox. No point putting it off, eh?"

And with that, Colonel Roy Mustang bustled over to his desk, slid a few documents off the top of the massive pile that was his inbox, and opened the desk drawer.

There was a split second of silence.

"Do any of you guys have a pen?"

Each of the soldiers sifted through their personal effects in turn, only to come up empty-handed.

"Gee, sorry, Colonel, I guess not. Huh. That's strange."

Mustang sat there for a moment, in deep philosophical though.

Then he brightened. "Oh well, guess there's nothing I can do about that. These documents will still be waiting to be filed tomorrow, right?"

There was a slight crack as something inside Hawkeye snapped. Whether it was her knuckles or her mind is up for debate.

The Flame Alchemist continued. "As long as there's no work for me to do here, I think I'll bugger off 'til lunchtime. I'm gonna head down to the rec room and play air hockey."

The Colonel was long gone before anybody spoke again. The sound of shuffling papers, muffled coughs, and Hawkeye's teeth grinding filled the room until Fuery hesitantly spoke up, "H-hey… have any of you guys seen my stapler?"

The Fuhrer- being the Fuhrer, of course- did not have to come in to work at the same time as everybody else. In fact, he technically didn't have to come in at all, cause nobody was ever going to complain to his face about him being late. Still, a sense of personal responsibility and the fact that he was engineering a massive, decades-long government conspiracy meant that he showed up at the office more days than not.

That, and the fact that Fridays were Barbecue'n'Beer Day in the cafeteria. He hadn't missed a Friday in over fifty years.

So, at about ten after eleven, Fuhrer King Bradley and his faithful secretary Juliet Douglas strode through the mahogany double doors and stepped into his lushly furnished workspace.

Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes were playing a very loud game of air hockey on the table in the corner.

"Hello, boys," King Bradley smiled.

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you… FUCK YOU!" Maes Hughes shouted.

"I expect your ass is sore, in light of the fact that you've just been raped." Mustang jibed. "I wouldn't sit down for a while."

"Game not going too well?" Bradley asked Hughes politely.

There were two guards out in the hallway. The string of profanities that Hughes unleashed actually turned their hair white.

"HE SHOOTS HE SCORES!" Mustang crowed triumphantly.

Bradley smiled and sat down at his desk. There was one other reason he came in to work, actually- he liked nothing more than to work at the daily crossword in the Central Times, and sip the wonderful tea that his secretary provided.

Only today, there was a problem.

"Have either of you boys seen my gold filigree pen?" Bradley asked.

Mustang and Hughes both looked up. "Nope," Maes replied, "But you might want to check your office."

"Yeah," said Mustang, "I don't think that your gold pen would be here in the rec room."

"I hate to break it to you boys," Bradley chuckled softly, "But this is my office."

Mustang and Hughes looked about in confusion. "No," Roy said evenly, "this is the rec room."

"I assure you, it's my office."

Hughes looked around. "No, it's definitely the rec room. There's the air hockey table, the ping-pong table, the foosball table, the pool table, the card table, and that big table that you do all those crossword puzzles on."

"That would be my desk," the Fuhrer explained.

"Oh." Mustang shuffled around awkwardly for a moment. "I'm going to play Ping-Pong now."

The Fuhrer returned to his desk and began digging around through his drawers. "Well, that's all well and good, but I still can't find my pen."

"Use mine," Hughes said, reaching into his pocket. He fished around in there for a while and his face fell. "Ah. Hm. Uh-oh."

The door slammed open, and the Fullmetal Alchemist stepped inside. His brother Alphonse followed him, taking out a large chunk of the doorjamb in the process.

"Why, hello Edward," Hawkeye greeted him. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that the Colonel is out at the moment. He should be back-"

"I'm not here to see Colonel Asshole."

Hawkeye ignored the demeaning nickname. "Oh. I'm sorry. Then what are you doing here? If I may ask, sir." Despite Edward Elric being a good fifteen years younger than she was, as a State Alchemist, he still outranked her.

"I'm here to file an official report of criminal activities, and a suspect identification form."

"What happened, kid?" Falman inquired.

"Well, Al and I were on our way to the library to conduct some research on possible whereabouts of existing philosopher's stones. Suddenly, we got attacked by this fat guy, along with a cross-dresser and a hooker. So I need to file a report on the incident. I'll be in my office."

He stepped through a door that nobody had ever really noticed before.

"I didn't know Ed had an office," said Havoc.

"Well," said Alphonse. "Brother is a State Alchemist. So I guess it makes sense that he would have an official workspace, even if he never uses it."

Breda pointed to the room that Ed had disappeared into. "Yeah. But is that it? Colonel Mustang always told me that room was his own personal supply closet."

The soldiers- and the suit of armor that constituted Alphonse's current body- stared at the door for a few silent moments. Then it opened, revealing a surprisingly calm Edward.

"Why," he said, "is there roughly two and a half tons of meticulously organized pornography in my office?" As if to demonstrate, he held up a box of magazines with a note attached- Vol. 567. Threesomes through Titfucking.

"See, I told you it was the Colonel's supply closet."

Havoc pushed past Edward. "Oh, this is impressive. They're even alphabetized. Here's Volume 42- Anal through Asphyxiation. And Volume 124- Elric through Extra-Large. Oh, hey, Ed, your mom's in this one."

"What!?" He snapped. "Gimme that!" Ed snatched the magazine, took one look at its cover, and then thrust it back into Havoc's hands. "Oh God, no, take it away!" he then realized that he had just given the magazine to Jean Havoc. "No, wait, give it back!"

He took the entire box, clapped his hands together once, and set the magazines on fire.

"Brother," Al asked innocently, "I don't understand. What were those magazines? And why does Colonel Mustang have so many?"

There was a very long and very painful silence.

"Um… Al… you see…" Hawkeye spluttered. "When a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"Or two men," Fuery added.

"Or two or more women," Havoc chuckled.

"Or a man and a sheep," Breda interjected.

"Or a man, a woman, a horse, a large jar of machine oil, a tomato plant, a vat of whipped cream, an inflatable doll, the milkman, the cheese lady, and the next door neighbors," Falman said.

Everybody in the room turned to look at Falman.


Ed quickly turned to face his younger brother. "Al. They were secrets. Dark secrets, involving… um… Alchemy… and… human transmutation…"

"Wait," said Al, "Do you mean that Colonel Mustang was trying to create human life?"

Everybody in the room exchange hesitant glances and shrugged.

"Sure," said Hawkeye.

"That works," said Breda.

"Yes, Alphonse," Edward nodded. "Mustang was trying to create human life through alchemy. And that is why I have to go and kill him now."

"Oh, okay then," Alphonse nodded back as Ed stormed out of the room. "Hey, wait a minute- kill him- Ed, wait!"

Ed stormed through the halls of Central Headquarters stopping when he finally caught a glimpse of the hated Flame Alchemist. He and Maes Hughes were affizing what appeared to be an enormous bulletin board to one of the walls, while the Furher and his secretary supervised.

"Bring your side up a little," Mustang said.

"You BASTARD!" Ed screamed.

"Hi, Ed."

The Fullmetal Alchemist swung into action, bringing his hands together and transmuting his automail arm into a deadly blade. He leapt gracefully through the air, raising his artificial arm above his head and bringing it down in a deadly arc designed to sweep Mustangs head from his shoulders.

Or it would have, had the Fuhrer not casually reached out and held him back by the collar of his coat.

"You asshole!" he yelled. "My mother- how could you! You were keeping those pictures- oh god, mom, why would you do that!? I'll- kill- you- Mustang!" He continued to swear and threaten until the Fuhrer dumped him unceremoniously on the ground.

"Mr. Elric," said Bradley, "If you were to go around killing everybody who's seen your mother with her clothes off, there wouldn't be a State Military to arrest you for it. Now be quiet, there are worse problems afoot."

"Wait, what?" Ed protested. "What was that about my mom?"

"Trisha was your mom?" Hughes asked. "Oh-ho-ho-hoooo boy…"

"Look, Fullmetal," Bradley continued, "If you have a reason to murder Mustang that doesn't have to do with things your mother may or may not but probably has done, then out with it!"

Behind the Fuhrer, Juliet Douglas giggled.

Ed spluttered for a moment. "But… My… what… what about my ball-clicker dealie!? Yeah, that's right, it's missing!"

Mustang raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Ball-clicker dealie, Fullmetal?"

The Fuhrer, however, was intrigued. "Wait a moment Mustang. Go on, Mr. Elric."

"You know those silver balls that hang on the ends of strings all in a row and you lift one up and it falls down and the one on the other end of the row bounces up, and it goes back and forth like that?"

"Oh, a ball-clicker dealie," Hughes said in sudden undetstanding.

"Yeah. I had one on my desk, and now this bastard here stole it JUST SO HE COULD MAKE ROOM FOR HIS PORN!"

"Now why would I steal your ball-clicker dealie?" Mustang snorted, "I have one of my own. Standard-issue, State Military ball-clicker dealies."

"So… you didn't take it?"


The Fuhrer stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hm. It appears that this problem is much more serious than I had thought. Follow me."

Edward Elric, Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes followed Bradley back into his office laden with novelties. He sat behind his desk, and pushed a button on the intercom.

"Everyone, get in here!"

Ed looked up, and everyone was in the Fuhrer's office.

The entire State Military, of course. But there was also Scar the wanted serial killer, that weird fat guy, that transvestite with green hair, and the prostitute in a black dress, Winry, Winry's grandma, Winry's dog, Ed and Al's estranged father Hohenheim, their teacher Izumi and her husband, a whole mess of homeless Ishbalans, that priest guy, the slutty cat burglar, that one chick who stole Ed's watch that time, Rose, Lyra, that other crossdressing serial killer named Barry, Shou Tucker, that weird scary dog-thing that he made, Hughes' wife and daughter, those Chinese people from the comic version, Armstrong's badass sister- and Olivia, too- Greed and those chimeras from that bar, those miners, Zolf J. Kimblee the other other serial killer, L for some reason, and the guy who owns that restaurant in Liore whose radio Al fixed after he broke it by knocking it off the shelf and in doing so helpfully explained the basics of alchemy for any outside observer from another dimension who would have happened to be watching at that point..

The Fuhrer looked them all in the eye at the same time.

"Somebody has been stealing office supplies."

Everybody looked at the floor and tried to seem innocent.

"My gold filigree pen- gone. My gold stapler and staples- gone. My gold paper clips- all gone. EDWARD ELRIC'S EXECUTIVE BALL-CLICKER DEALIE! GONE! Will somebody please tell me just how in the hell he is supposed to get any work done without his ball-clicker dealie!?"

Someone in the back raised their hand.

"Who is it?' The Fuhrer barked.

"It's Isaac the Ice Alchemist, sir. I was in that one episode of the new one- I froze my own blood and tried to stab you with it; remember?"

"Right, right- go on."

"Well, what if we all brought our own stuff from home?"

The Fuhrer was silent for a moment. Then he blew up. "Do you know what kind of a business I am trying to run here, Isaac? I'll give you a hint. It is not a nickel-and-dime little mom and pop stationary store. It is a totalitarian fucking dictatorship! And what kind of goddamn sorry-ass dictatorship has its employees bring their shit from home? I AM TRYING TO RUN A CLASS FUCKING ACT HERE AND YOU ARE TELLING ME TO HAVE PEOPLE BRING SHIT FROM HOME!? Get out! Don't ever let me see your face again, not even in fucking flashbacks about how fucking terrible the Ishbal war was and about how men become animals on the battlefield, no longer seeing human lives as objects of any worth, but only as things of inconsequential value, and how you were forced to kill innocent people for a concept as insubstantial as duty to your country, and also how one time you were forced to execute a small child after a long dramatic pause, signifying your complete descent into sin and final loss of innocence!" He seethed for a moment. "Pussy."

Another hand went up.

"Who is it this time?"

It was Envy the green-haired transvestite… thing. "I have an idea. My friends and I are very talented at working behind the scenes. If you don't mind, we'd be happy to conduct an undercover investigation as to the culprit of this string of thefts."

"How very convenient and plot advancing," said the Fuhrer. "Okay. You may all leave. I am entrusting this investigation to the hands of this weird androgynous slut thing, this fat guy with Down's syndrome, and this hooker."

"Ed's mom?" asked Scar.

"No, no, the other hooker." The Fuhrer gestured to the woman in the black dress with the big tits.

"It's Lust," said the hooker. "And this here is Gluttony."

"Is it okay if I call you Tits?" asked the Fuhrer.


"Too bad, Tits."`

"What's that about my mom?" said Ed.

Nobody paid attention to him.

The fat guy had begun eating the pinball machine.

I stole the 'everybody get in here' joke from a cartoon I saw. That is all.