Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Snowy Mountain Correctional Center ❯ Scar ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: AuthorFullmetal 
Scar is being taken to the prison.
Anime/Manga: Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.03.2016 | Pages: 1 | Words: 705 | Visits: 382 | Status: Work In Progress
Scar is being taken to the prison.
Anime/Manga: Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.03.2016 | Pages: 1 | Words: 705 | Visits: 382 | Status: Work In Progress
Scar didn't struggle against his cuffs. Nearly half a day
after attacking those damned brothers, while he had been in the
sewers, an unauthorized patrol, consisting of Roy Mustang and Alex
Louis Armstrong, who had troubles resting easily knowing he had
escaped, captured him. The fight lasted long, it was a grueling,
nasty battle. More of the sewer now sit destroyed than before. At
the end of the battle, however, one good, bone breaking force punch
to the gut from the Strong-arm's spiked knuckles was enough
to knock him down, and keep him down. Enough for the spikes to cut
through his skin like butter. Scar swore the pain of the spikes was
similar, if not nearly the same pain of getting shot four times,
at the same time.
Escape was not an option, either. For starters, his wrists were bind with thick wooden cuffs, not something that would really stop him, as he could so easily just adjust his wrist enough to where he could use him alchemy on them, but the cuffs weren't all. On top of the cuffs, thick ropes tied his hands, palms together. They were tied so tight Scar was convinced they would cut off his circulation sooner or later. Just to add onto preventing his escape, none other than the two who caught him guarded the train car they sat in, as well as what seemed to be at least twenty men holding rifles. Even if he did manage to get passed every obstacle standing in his way, the train they were on was going fast. If he jumped off the train, there was no way possible he was leaving without sustaining any injuries. He was trapped.
So as he sit idly on the train, staring straight ahead to avoid the nervous, but triumphant looks from Mustang and Armstrong, his mind wandered to where he would be taken.
They couldn't take him to some prison anywhere. No. It had to be a prison built for people like him. A prison where even the worst of criminals shuddered at hearing it. If it were going to be a normal prison, where they would send shoplifters, Scar would be out - and quick for that matter. So wherever they were taking him, was not some joke prison.
As the train sped through the dusk, it's destination northbound, Scar wondered if they had decided to execute him. Life in prison was guaranteed, he remembered it being stated multiple times throughout his trial. What he didn't remember, however, was a mention of death. Scar could not recall a single mention of death once throughout the entire trial, but he did remember hearing 'Correctional Center' once or twice. As confused as he was, Scar considered that if he were being sent to execution, Mustang Armstrong would be celebrating, talking his ear off about the execution, mocking him. Instead all he got were nervous glances.
The thought of sitting in a cramped cell, possibly with another person for the rest of his life frustrated him. Making a prisoner repeat the same bland routine for the rest of their life was almost torture. It was an Amestrian thing to do. Of course Amestris would do that, having the heartless military there currently was, watching a prisoner rot away in a cell was nothing. They had slaughtered his entire country. They had caught him. They were going to watch him break in the cell. They were going to watch him die. Scar being Ishvalan only made matters worse for him. Amestris had no respect for his people.
The night settled in, rendering the train car in darkness. Scar didn't dare think of sleep, despite how tired he felt. Ever since the trial, he had felt more drowsy than usual, which he blamed on stress. It most likely showed on his face as well, he didn't doubt it.
As the train sped through the night, he found sooner or later he could only hear the soud of the train. Metal wheels clacking almost rhythmically against the track. Dare say, Scar didn't notice his eyes close.
Escape was not an option, either. For starters, his wrists were bind with thick wooden cuffs, not something that would really stop him, as he could so easily just adjust his wrist enough to where he could use him alchemy on them, but the cuffs weren't all. On top of the cuffs, thick ropes tied his hands, palms together. They were tied so tight Scar was convinced they would cut off his circulation sooner or later. Just to add onto preventing his escape, none other than the two who caught him guarded the train car they sat in, as well as what seemed to be at least twenty men holding rifles. Even if he did manage to get passed every obstacle standing in his way, the train they were on was going fast. If he jumped off the train, there was no way possible he was leaving without sustaining any injuries. He was trapped.
So as he sit idly on the train, staring straight ahead to avoid the nervous, but triumphant looks from Mustang and Armstrong, his mind wandered to where he would be taken.
They couldn't take him to some prison anywhere. No. It had to be a prison built for people like him. A prison where even the worst of criminals shuddered at hearing it. If it were going to be a normal prison, where they would send shoplifters, Scar would be out - and quick for that matter. So wherever they were taking him, was not some joke prison.
As the train sped through the dusk, it's destination northbound, Scar wondered if they had decided to execute him. Life in prison was guaranteed, he remembered it being stated multiple times throughout his trial. What he didn't remember, however, was a mention of death. Scar could not recall a single mention of death once throughout the entire trial, but he did remember hearing 'Correctional Center' once or twice. As confused as he was, Scar considered that if he were being sent to execution, Mustang Armstrong would be celebrating, talking his ear off about the execution, mocking him. Instead all he got were nervous glances.
The thought of sitting in a cramped cell, possibly with another person for the rest of his life frustrated him. Making a prisoner repeat the same bland routine for the rest of their life was almost torture. It was an Amestrian thing to do. Of course Amestris would do that, having the heartless military there currently was, watching a prisoner rot away in a cell was nothing. They had slaughtered his entire country. They had caught him. They were going to watch him break in the cell. They were going to watch him die. Scar being Ishvalan only made matters worse for him. Amestris had no respect for his people.
The night settled in, rendering the train car in darkness. Scar didn't dare think of sleep, despite how tired he felt. Ever since the trial, he had felt more drowsy than usual, which he blamed on stress. It most likely showed on his face as well, he didn't doubt it.
As the train sped through the night, he found sooner or later he could only hear the soud of the train. Metal wheels clacking almost rhythmically against the track. Dare say, Scar didn't notice his eyes close.