Frank Archer has never been fast or strong. He failed the physical examination for first lieutenant twice due to a variety of reasons related to not being fast or strong: low blood pressure, poor reflexes, stiff joints, and an unnerving tendency not to blink when being shouted down by a commanding officer. His parents' money and connections, not his own talents, bought him a sinecure as an officer (alongside pansy bastards like Mustang) and guaranteed that no matter how much he achieves in his life he will never quite, entirely deserve it.

Frank Archer has never been fast or strong, but he has learned how to be smart. He has learned how to get his way, how to work around the details of an order, how to make things happen. Occasionally he meets someone who'll look him straight in the eye and preach about ends and means, but it never lasts. Eventually they'll break off, look away, and from there it's usually an awkward pat on his shoulder and a "well, good job anyway, major!" Ends and means, means and ends -- let God sort it out, Frank Archer has always said.

Frank Archer has never been fast or strong. That is, until now. They -- that They, the kind that always comes capitalized -- say that attaching automail hurts enough to drive a man crazy, to make a man wish he were dead. They're wrong. And maybe that has more to do with his new body and its ratio of nerves to screws than with the truth, but Frank Archer has never heard anything so wrong in his life.

Frank Archer is strong, and Frank Archer is fast. His body hums with energy, electricity. It's incredible. It's erotic. It's better than he's ever felt in his life. And what does it matter that he's had to give up being human to find this? What did being human ever get him?

Frank Archer. Frank, Frank, Frank – except he's not anymore, is he?