Fifteen years. Fifteen years ago, Edward had stood in this same spot in this same courtyard on the parade grounds and had helped to take down the homunculus, Father. That day had been both a day for celebration, and one of incredible sorrow. Despite the best efforts of the members of the coup d'etat, many civilian lives had been lost, as well as the lives of many honorable men and women of the military. Yet, in the end, they had made it through the battle, and while the rifles were still hot to the touch from the constant onslaught of bullets, and the ears of anyone in the vicinity were still ringing from the constant bombardment of gunfire, the power struggle had begun. 

Generals claimed innocence, feigning no knowledge of the Dwarf in the Flask's intentions, Colonels and Lieutenants and Captains and any and every one else was vying for recognition, promotions, favors from the higher ups... It had been a mad race for the top that had only ceased when Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist and leader of the coup, had waltzed into the Fuhrers destroyed office, sat himself down in the chair behind the old noble oak desk, steepled his hands under his chin, and promptly obliterated any and all resistance to his rise to power with a charismatic smile and a steely gaze. Nobody had wanted to make enemies of the man who had so openly led the resistance and won, and so the title was passed to Flame.

Repairs had been swift, what with so many alchemists in one place for the fighting, although the Elric brothers had been nowhere to be found for the first few weeks. It turned out that they both had been dragged to the Central City Hospital, one for severe malnutrition and one for various wounds, including but not limited to a rather nasty infection from a flesh arm and automail port being made to join.

Now, though? The parade grounds were packed with people, military men and women marching in file, rifles held proud, chests puffed, and heads held high. Each regiment held 30 individuals, and dozens of them flanked the elaborate parade floats that were being slowly driven through the center of the grounds towards the city's main street. It was a warm, sunny day, perfect for the civilians in attendance who had their lighter, more fashionable clothes on, less so for those individuals who were either parading or were being paraded around, who were stuck in multiple layers of clothing as well as their heavy uniform jackets.

This, much to the chagrin of one Edward Elric, was something that he was unfortunately expected to wear. While he was no longer a state alchemist, or an alchemist at all, actually, he had found the civilian life far too boring for his taste and had reluctantly jumped at the opportunity to have something akin to his old routine back. Unfortunately, without alchemy, that meant he actually had to do the whole nine yards of basic training and learning how to use other weapons than a hastily transmuted blade or spear. It had taken him nearly six years to stoop to being that desperate for something to do, but it had happened eventually, and Fuhrer Mustang was only all too willing to have his pawn back in the game. 

At age twenty-three, Edward had passed through basic training with flying colors, some new drinking buddies, and a standard issue pistol and uniform with a new rank to boot. After all, the Fuhrer had decided that one of the city's most prominent heroes couldn't maintain the same measly rank of Major they'd had since they were twelve, and so Edward was granted a new shoulder embroidering, Lieutenant Colonel.

Another nine years of dedicated service, a brief stint on the front lines with Drachma over a trade disagreement, Edward had made it to Brigadier General, which was the most he was ever willing to climb. Especially when his days of patrolling the city and country turned into sitting in his chair and signing off on paperwork day in and day out.

And that all led them to this moment, Mustangs most loyal on the last float in line, a tactic to build anticipation and awe at the sight of the country's heroes.

"Do you think," Edward muttered under his breath to Captain Breda "That we'll actually get out of here before all the good restaurants are closed? Because I could really go for that Xingan place that opened down on East Second street right about now."

Breda snorted lightly, his face remaining straight all the same. "I doubt it. You know full well how these things are. They last all day and by the time they're over, everyone's closed down shop early for the festivities." Ed groaned but accepted his fate as the float turned the corner onto the main street. A loud cheer went up as the crowds that had gathered finally caught sight of their leader and his comrades, and while Mustang did his duty as the enigmatic and charming leader of the people, Edward had to actually try not to yawn from boredom. These events never got any easier, as often as he had to attend them, and it was-

A bullet hit Edward in the back, the entry silent and the damage immediate as the bullet tore through his left shoulder-blade and buried itself in his chest cavity. There was no immediate reaction from Ed, just a surprised look on his face as he slowly reached back, pain beginning to roar through his mind. Of course, Ed thought woozily, the one time I let my guard down...

The sniper would have taken advantage of the loud crowds and the sound of the cars carrying the floats to disguise the sound of gunfire, and when Ed went to turn, to pull his friends and Superior down, out of harm's way, another shot tore through his arm. This time, Mustang had turned around to see what the tug on his coattails was for, and his eyes widened as one last bullet hit his officer. 

Bullseye, the sniper thought, a grim smile on their face as the esteemed Fullmetal Alchemist finally went down, screams starting to rise through the air as well as panicked shouting from Ed's friends. 

Their mission done, having seen in their scope the bullet entering Fullmetal's skull, the individual laughed to themself a bit, hardly believing their own luck before pulling an old, well used handgun from their belt. One, quick shot later, and only a lifeless body would be found later when the MPs and Investigations did the math to find out where the assassin would have had to been located, as well as a bloodied note that only had three words scrawled on it...

For My Brother