Roy Mustang

Roy Mustang was in his office in the East City Command Centre, sitting among copious amounts of files and papers. He was set for the transfer to Central City in a few weeks and that meant that all of the work that had been put off until now had to be finished. This was mainly getting everything on paper for the official records. The Colonel was grumbling about having to do so much work in such short time, but all of which he was sifting through now dwarfed the amount that he had wisely delegated to the members of his team to organise, so he had to bite the bullet.

Mustang shouldn't complain, really. He was optimistic about this transfer. Central was going to be better for his career progression, for sure. Plus, it would be nice to be closer to Hughes, although he was certain that he'd get sick of him after only a month. He was difficult enough keeping his incessant, long phone calls to a minimum, especially with his daughter growing up and being - as Hughes would tell him ad nauseum - so perfect every day.

While he had barely made a dent in the amount of papers, which littered his desk, it was during the tidying that Mustang found something noteworthy.

"Huh? How'd this book get underneath all of these papers?"

It was a strange black book that didn't look like any book Mustang owned in his office, nor a military notebook. It was thick and old-looking. Picking it up from the desk and inspecting it, Mustang found that its texture was like nothing he'd felt, but opening it revealed nothing more than a simple blank book. No writing; no names; nothing: it was blank.

"What the Hell? When did this...?"

Mustang wondered, flicking the strange-looking book from the back to the front. He was about to put it down, but his curiosity was still heightened.

Only after finding the first page did Mustang see any text on the inside of the front cover, carved into the leather.

"Reality Book"

"'Reality Book?'" Mustang read, "I wonder what that means."