Episode I

In a large mansion estate in a secluded part of Great Britain, outside the outskirts of the great city of London, an elderly Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing made her way through the intricate halls of her home during the late hours of the night. The light of the full moon shone through the windows in the dark of a summer night, and the pale streams that floated through the windows illuminated her silver-white hair as it flowed gently behind her. A slight gleam shone off of the smooth black leather of an eye patch that covered her right eye, which now seemed contoured to her facial features over its years of use. The moonlight created harsh shadows on the walls and glare that shone off of the few mirrors that were hung sparingly on the walls.

Glancing into one of these mirrors with her left eye, Integra glimpsed her gradually aging features. Wrinkles were forming below her eyes and around the corners of her mouth, and the creases at her brow remained ever present on her oh-so-stern face. Even her once bright blue eye had begun to lose some of its former luster, now remaining a mix of blue and pale grey. Her skin shone pale in the moonlight, and it almost gave her a glow of dignified radiance that could attest to the experience and determination that still burned brightly in her heart. She had had more than her fair share of the brutalities life could bring, but the grace in her stride and the regality of her stance would fool anyone as to the toll it had taken on her.

Her footsteps echoed softly through the halls, as if the entire mansion were silent towards her out of some high respect or solemn fear. But if there was anything to fear within the confines of the mansion, it was the creature she was going to see. Taking a turn down a hall that led past walls of portraits, she ran her fingers along the wallpaper and across small divots in the wall, left from the various amounts of patchwork and repairs done for the mansion over the years. She gave a soft smile as her fingers bumped over these little concave spots within the masonry and woodwork.

"We've both got our scars to cover, don't we?" she thought to herself, placing her other hand on the patch that covered her marred and empty left eye socket.

Arriving at a particularly large mirror surrounded by a golden frame, she slid her fingers behind and pulled a hidden door gently open, revealing a dark and foreboding stone staircase leading into the sublevels of the mansion. She could barely see past the first few steps, but she knew the way by heart. She proceeded down, her steps now resounding with firm footfalls upon dark stone, the air around her growing slightly chill with each step. She left the entrance agape, letting what little light found its way through guide her. Eventually it became too dark to distinguish much, but she made her footfalls deliberate, knowing the distance between each step by muscle-memory.

After she reached the bottom of the staircase, her final downward step at the base of the stairway echoed out through a large chamber, dimly lit by seemingly unknown means. Far across from her she could see the silhouetted shape of a large chair, almost throne-like in shape, with a single small table sitting off to its right. She smiled to herself, and proceeded steadily forward into the gloom.

Coming to a standstill only a few feet from the seat, she could clearly make out a tall dark figure sitting against the dark red leathery back of the chair. A slight gleam shone from his red-spectacled glasses resting on the table beside him, and his long dark hair curled up and out in front of him in long, smooth wisps. She caught a glimpse of movement as a smile crept across the figure's face.

Two bright red circles of light gleamed for an instant as Alucard opened his eyes, immediately meeting his master's own.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my Master?" Alucard's suave and elegant voice asked in a calm, mannerly tone.

Integra simply smiled down at her friend and servant, producing a blood bag from the jacket she kept draped over her shoulders.

"I know those few drops I lent you aren't nearly enough," she said, tossing the bag over to him.

Alucard snatched the bag out of the air, taking a long drink from the crimson sack of fluid before giving a satisfied sigh.

"Type O…" he said, swirling the bag around as though it were a bottle of fine wine. "You remembered my favorite."

"The universal donor type," Integra said. "The only blood type that can be accepted by all other human beings. The ideal medium for giving life to those who need it."

Alucard eyed his master keenly. "But you and I both know you didn't come here just to deliver a bag of blood."

This brought up a chuckle from Integra's throat. "I know it may seem strange of me, but a master should look out for their servants, should they not?"

She stepped closer and knelt down, studying Alucard's face. Pale as most vampire's features were, his seemed to be exceptionally so. The smile on his face was marred with fatigue, and his formerly bloodlust-filled gaze she knew so well had dulled.

"All that time and I've never seen you so weak…" Integra said. "I never believed you could be brought to such a level after all of your restrictions had been lifted…"
"You did what was necessary," Alucard said. "I suppose my own overconfidence played a part. When one is immortal, you tend to forget there are things in this world that still hold sway over your life."

"Things?" Integra asked. "What in the world aside from God himself could hold sway over you?"

"Believe it or not," Alucard said, laying his head back against his chair, "there was a time when divine intervention almost cost me my existence."

"Divine intervention?"

"Yes… only a few years before you were born…"

The year is 1970. The Vietnam War is being fought in the eastern hemisphere in full ferocity. Guerilla warfare is taking its toll on the American and South Vietnamese forces, and the bomb strikes and air raids conducted against the North Vietnamese's Viet Cong forces torch the country with plumes of napalm and towers of billowing black smoke. Green forests are turned crimson with the blood and gore of soldiers torn apart by mines, bombs, shrapnel, and various booby traps.

Blood which feeds an unseen force moving swiftly through the underbrush.

As it turns out, areas of thick forest canopy provide the necessary protection from sunlight that the various vampires require to survive. Armed with superior senses and extreme strength and agility, they took particular pleasure in slinking through the shadows and tearing apart any offense they came across. Various strewn limbs and carcasses provided for easy feeding, and the enemy could hardly keep up.

One such small pack of vampires was staking out an open area of field, where intelligence had placed a group of American soldiers to be passing through at any second. Dusk had fallen, and it was more than dark enough to prevent them from being scorched or even seen. As the sounds of footfalls on turf and brush grew closer with the drumming of beating hearts, the Viet Cong vampires grew eager with anticipation.

Eventually, a troupe of about fifteen American and South Vietnamese soldiers made their way into the clearing. They were all battle worn and tired, many with various small wounds about their person. The scent of fresh blood pulsing on the surface of human skin was enough to drive the vampires crazy as they stalked their next meal, although the taste of blood was still fresh in their mouths. However, bloodlust was a difficult thing to satisfy, especially when each drink made them even stronger than before.

Then it was too much. Dashing out of the surrounding forest brush, the vampires blasted away at the first ranks of the soldiers. Bullets pounded against armor and pierced through flesh, and fountains of blood splattered up into the air and all over the jungle ground. Some rained down on the waiting monsters, and they stood in the midst of their still living prey, reveling in their confusion. When they were finally noticed, they allowed their victims to try and fight back, easily dodging out of the bullet's ways and disarming the attackers with unnatural grace. Toying with them, they encircled the frightened soldiers, some of them feasting on their still-living companions in the agony of their first assault. It was time to finish the job.

As the leader of the pack advanced, the sound of a single gunshot rang through the air, but it wasn't like any rifle they'd ever heard. It sounded like something much heavier.

The second the sound had reached their ears, a slight scuff announced to them that a bullet had passed them by and landed in the brush behind them. All was silent for a split second, and then the leader of the pack burst into dust, a hole visible directly between his eyes before he completely disintegrated.

All was deathly still. A definite sound of strong footsteps came crushing through the forest behind the remaining soldiers. In the dark green of the jungle there came a tint of deep red. Its shape became more definite, and before the eyes of all gathered, a tall figure dressed in a long red frock overcoat, black suit, red cravat tie, bright red glasses, white gloves, dark black boots, and a large, wide-brimmed red fedora stepped forward. In his right hand he held a single silver pistol with a barrel the length of his forearm, and an almost gleeful smile shone under his locks of black hair.

"You men get out of here," he commanded with a deep, powerful voice. "I'll handle this filth."

The American and South Vietnamese forces didn't wait for a second opinion, rushing to the cover behind this unknown savior.

The Viet Cong vampires, however, weren't willing to wait either. Raising their weapons, they emptied their clips into this overconfident individual, effectively tearing him into pieces. One of them moved forward to investigate the matter. The figure had been absolutely riddled, and his left arm had been virtually shot off. There was even exposed bone on the chest and head, pieces of fractured skull, rib, and muscle exposed to the night air. But there was something strange about the scent of this one's blood…

Getting closer to try and figure this peculiar person out, the soldier stared down at the deceased figure's face, studying the one good eye that had managed to remain intact.

An eye that shifted and stared right back at him with a bright red glow.

Suddenly the figure's corpse burst back into life, wounded as it was, and the creature's right hand burst through the Viet Cong soldier, piercing through armor and all. Bone snapped, blood sprayed, and a proud, dark, arrogant laugh pierced the night's heat.

In the light of the moon, blood and what appeared to be the essence of darkness itself flowed in towards the slowly healing beast of a man dressed in red. Alucard dropped the dead vampire to the ground, the blood soaking into his arm as he pulled himself back together. His smile was wider than ever, and he treated those vampires to a show of force they'd never forget.

He emptied a clip of his silver bullets into many of them, but didn't bother to reload as he tore the two remaining apart with his bare hands. Running the final vampire in the pack through with nothing but his palm, he smiled with satisfaction as the monster burst apart and vanished into the wind.

As he took a moment to observe that the area was secure, one vampire, who had decided to hold back from the rest of the pack to make sure no airstrikes were incoming, burst from the dark and attempted to take on this formidable foe with the element of surprise on his side.

Alucard, however, was far too prepared, and he raised his now fully loaded pistol and aimed straight for the vampire's heart.

A single gunshot rang through the air once again, but it didn't come from Alucard's pistol.

Just as surprised as the vampire who now laid on the ground dead from a bullet wound to the head, Alucard turned to see an American soldier sitting up in the edge of the clearing, the tip of his M1 Garand rifle still smoking.

"Well, well…" Alucard muttered to himself, grinning at the bravado displayed by this simple human.

"Gotcha, you bastard…" the man said, breathing heavily. He suddenly clutched at his side, the rifle's tip falling to the ground. Removing his hand from his side, he gazed at fresh blood that was seeping through his uniform.

A shadow eclipsed the faint moonlight above him as Alucard stood over this rugged individual.

"It takes a real man to be able to kill a monster," Alucard complimented him. "Still, it remains to be seen whether you're a man or just a lucky shot."

The soldier's gaze began to blur as he started to become lightheaded. His head nodded as he tried to maintain consciousness.

"What's your name, soldier?" Alucard asked.

"Wesley…" he strained to say. "…Wesley… Felix…"

"Not to worry, soldier," Alucard said, his voice starting to fade from Wesley's ears. "I'm not going to allow you to die here."

And everything faded away as Wesley fell to the ground unconscious.

His vision still blurred, Wesley opened his eyes to a bright white glare directly above him. Blinking at the intensity, he pulled his pillow over his head to try and fall back asleep.

"…Pillow…?" Wesley's mind was stumped for a moment.

Sitting straight up in bed, he winced as a pain shot up his side. Touching the focus of his ache, he found his waist bound in gauze and bandages.

"Right…" he thought, his mind returning to him. "I was shot…"

Then the memories came rushing back. The jungle. The vampires. The men killed. The gunfire.

And the figure dressed in red.

"Who was that…?" he kept thinking, trying to put the pieces together.

"Looks like you're awake," a deep voice said to his right.

"Oh, yeah…" he said, turning to see who was next to him.

Red eyes stared back at him from between red glasses and a dark red wide-brimmed fedora.

"You…!" Wesley started to say, unable to believe his eyes.

Alucard simply smiled in return, leaning back in his chair. Two sharp fangs were clearly visible within his cocky grin.

"I saw you! You were shot to hell, but… but you still got up somehow…" Wesley tried to make sense of everything, but one fact became abundantly clear to him as he eyed this stranger. "…You're not human, are you?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you everything up front," Alucard said. "That is… unless you don't object?"

"I believe Mr. Felix has seen enough to warrant an explanation," another voice chimed in.

Turning to his left, Wesley's eyes met another peculiar figure, this one dressed head to toe in a black suit and tie with a black fedora on his head and mirrored shades over his eyes. If he had to guess, Wesley assumed he was some sort of big shot government agent.

"What the…?! Who are you people?!" Wesley said, extremely confused.

"Allow me to introduce myself," Alucard said, standing up and removing his hat. "My name is Alucard. I am an agent of Britain's Hellsing Organization, and I am a vampire."

Wesley was about to chuckle, but, remembering how Alucard had managed to stand up and kill at least ten inhuman soldiers after taking multiple clips of ammo, stifled his laugh and accepted the statement.

"Hellsing Organization…?" he said after a pause. "I've never heard of them before."

"Nor would we expect you to have," the agent said.

"Well, who are you then?" Wesley asked.

"That's classified," the agent said.

"Sure…"

Turning back to Alucard, Wesley went over a few things in his head.

"But why is Britain joining the fray? I didn't think they were involved in the war."

"We're not," Alucard said. "I was fighting a rising vampire population in the east on behalf of requests from our agents in the Americas. We have no interest in your government's war on Communism."

"I see…" Wesley said. "Well… thank you for saving my life."

"Considering the futility of your actions, you're lucky I tried to save you at all," Alucard said. "Your shot only killed it for a moment. It regenerated and would have struck again had it not been for the precautions I took."

"Oh…" Wesley said.

"But I'm curious…" Alucard continued. "Why shoot at all?"

"Because a good friend of mine was out there with me," Wesley said. "And those… those things out there shot him down like he was nothing."

Alucard's eyes gleamed at this. There was more to Wesley than he thought.

"Regardless of what happened or why…" the agent said, "after your recuperation is complete, you'll be honorably discharged from the U.S. military and assigned to a new organizational branch."

"And what organization is this?" Wesley asked.

"Ours," he said.

Wesley was once again stunned into silence.

"Considering your track record, you have been judged fit for duty with us. Should you choose to become a member of our organization, you will then be working closely with agents such as myself and also our fellow agents at Hellsing."

"Are there more like you in this Hellsing Organization?" Wesley asked Alucard.

"Not yet," Alucard said. "But maybe someday…"

"I think that takes care of everything," the agent said.

"Very well. I'm going back to sleep," Alucard said, walking through the wall behind Wesley and vanishing from sight.

"What else can this guy d-"

Wesley turned to find the other man had vanished as well. He was left alone in his hospital room.

"What have I gotten into?"

After a few weeks of recovery, Wesley was released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, and was also honorably discharged from the military with a purple heart. He soon returned to his home state of Michigan, going back to the small town he called home. He pulled his black Chevy truck up the cracked and worn driveway, stopping in front of the open garage just below the old basketball hoop they kept mounted over the entrance. It was a small home, with a single stall garage that was a little rough around the edges but served its purpose effectively. Just next to it was Wesley's single story home, comprised of three bedrooms, a small living and dining room within the same space, and a small branch-off kitchen area just next to the front entrance. It wasn't the most spacious of homes, but it was the place he had lived his childhood without complaint. The familiar pale blue shingling along the exterior was only showing the slightest signs of paint chipping; he'd probably be assigned by his father to help out with that at some point.

"Maybe I'll convince him to try a different color this time…" Wesley thought to himself with a small smile. "And speak of the devil!"

His father, mother, and younger sister all emerged from the front door, smiles stretching across their faces at the sight of their fully uniformed and fully recovered son and brother returning from the hospital.

"Wes, my boy!" his father said, raising his hands in jubilation.

"Your boy?" his mother joked. "He's my young man!" She hurried over to him and gave him a welcome home kiss on the cheek.

"Hey Mom! Hi Dad!" Wesley said, embracing them both.

"Hey, bro! Don't leave me out of it!" his younger sister chimed in.

"How could I forget my little sis?" Wesley said. "How are you, Lauren?" he said, giving her a hug as well.

"Still a freshman in college," she said, removing some blonde hair from her face. At five feet and nine inches tall, she still stood only a few inches shorter than her older brother, who likewise had blonde hair and blue eyes as she did. "Did you get your hair cut shorter?"

"Military requirement," Wesley said, running a hand over his head. "But what's with the getup?"

"Oh, this?" she said, stretching out her tie dye shirt and fumbling with her silver peace sign necklace. "It's just what's popular to wear these days."

"At least you're not getting into what those other kids are doing," his mother said. "Rebellious children doing drugs and making trouble!"

"Now, now, Beth, honey," his father said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Now's not the time to be talking about such things. Our son is home!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," she said. "Come on in, hon! We've got dinner almost ready! I remembered your favorite! Honey ham, mashed potatoes, and a nice cold beverage."

"She means 'beer'," his father joked, opening the front door. The nostalgic sound of the door creaking open sent a flash of childhood memories through Wesley's mind. That door had always creaked, no matter how much they had tried to fix it, but there was never a need to replace it. So, whenever that creaking sound was heard, it meant someone had returned home or a friend had just arrived.

"I could definitely go for a cold one, Dad!" Wesley said. "Especially after what I've seen…"

Just as he was about to follow his family inside, movement caught the corner of his eye. Looking out across the road, a pitch black car was parked across from the driveway, and a man completely dressed in black stared over at him from behind mirrored shades. Wesley held eye contact with him for a few moments, but it became clear he didn't intend to leave any time soon.

"Well, speak of the devil… again," Wesley thought.

The man rolled down his car window, motioning for Wesley to meet him.

"Hang on a minute, guys. I'll be right in! There's someone here who wants to talk to me."

"Is it a friend of yours?" his mother called out. "Does he want to join us?"

"Uh, no, Mom. He's someone I met from the hospital. Probably just wants to go over a few things with me."

Walking across the street, he leaned down to the man's level outside his car door.

"You seem to have made quite the recovery."

It was the same agent from the hospital.

"Yeah, I'm jumping off the walls. What are you here for?"

"I wanted to follow up on our previous arrangements," he said. "Have you given any consideration to your new position?"

"I have… and I'm going to have to decline."

"Pardon?"

"Listen…" Wesley said, taking a nervous step back. "I know you said I had potential and all… but I've seen my share of monsters and death. I don't know why you'd want me out there fighting those things anyway. Hell, it took one of… him… to take down just that little group of them back in Vietnam."

"You'd be training under the best, not to mention fortified with the proper weaponry."

"I don't care. I don't want to go anywhere near something like that again!"

"Mr. Felix, the matter is far greater than you realize."

"I'm sure it is," Wesley said. "But I'll have nothing to do with it. I'm sorry, the answer is no."

With that, Wesley returned to his home. The man in black started his car, taking one last look at the house before driving away.

"There's more to this than you realize, Mr. Felix. We need you… more than you know."

Weeks passed, and Wesley didn't see any sign of the man in black since his last conversation with him. Things went on as they always had; Wesley returned to the university to study under the paid education his service in the military had granted him, his sister continued to seek her degree in medicine, and his parents were there waiting for him at home. They had graciously allowed him to stay at home until he found a suitable place to live. After all, they hadn't changed his room one bit since he left.

That wasn't all that had happened since his return. Wesley had met with old friends, learned about this new peace-loving culture that seemed more and more like a huge rebellion against traditional values that created more conflict than it did peace, and even met his sister's new boyfriend, who he was extremely observant of. He didn't like the fact that his little sister was now dating someone, but the guy seemed descent enough. Having a veteran as an older brother was a big incentive to keep him in check.

He especially loved being able to sleep in his old bed again. He'd missed being able to sleep on a mattress that wasn't army issue or absolutely sterile. It was those little things that he missed that made all the difference. The feel of the sheets, the smell of his room, and the way the street lights shone through his windows in such a calming way were all the ingredients needed to fall fast asleep. He'd missed it so much.

A familiar creak of the front door echoed through the house.

"Dad… fiddling with the car at this hour?" Wesley thought. "Well, I'm awake now… might as well see what he was up to."

Stepping out of his bed, he threw on a pair of jeans he'd kept beside his bed for quick changing. His feet padded heavily on the shaggy carpeting of his room as he stepped to his bedroom door, which opened with a slight click of the handle.

"Dad, what are you doing up at this hour?"

A warm fluid splashed his face, droplets sliding down his forehead and down his cheek.

"What the…?"

Wiping his hand over his head, he brought his hand down as a thick residue covered his fingertips.

Red.

The familiar scent soon shot through his nostrils, and his body seemed to kick back into overdrive, like he was back on the battlefield. He was jolted into a state of fight or flight, adrenaline pumping through him as his heart raced and his skin warmed, opening pores that set an immediate layer of perspiration all across his body. His eyes were now wide and alert, and his sense of hearing seeming to pick up everything. His body shook as his muscles tensed and prepared to move.

Then his focus shifted past his fingers to a figure standing in the front doorway.

He was holding his father's corpse in his arms, blood pouring from an open wound on his neck.

The same blood now dripped down Wesley's face, and covered the lips of the figure that now stood with a glistening red smile on his face.

"DAD!" Wesley cried.

He rushed the stranger, striking him across the face with all his might. The stranger grabbed Wesley's arm with a grip that sent pain shooting through his entire arm.

"Look at you, soldier boy," he said, twisting Wesley's wrist and forcing him to his knees. "Bold of you to take on someone like me."

With a simple flip of his arm, Wesley was thrown across the room and into the wall, plaster and wood breaking behind his back as he struck the far side of the living room. The wind was knocked from Wesley's lungs, and he coughed trying to catch his breath again.

"Are you nimrods finished yet?" the stranger called.

"Yeah," a new voice called from another bedroom. "Not much to drink here. Just a couple of broads and that old guy."

Two more figures emerged from the other bedrooms, one from Wesley's sister's room, and the other from his mother's room. Both had blood-stained mouths. They all wore the same attire as the first; dark hooded sweatshirts with jeans and various other trinkets strewn about their person.

The bodies of Wesley's mother and sister were tossed out onto the floor in front of him.

"Looks like we've got one more," the apparent leader said, dropping his father's corpse to the ground. "And he looks healthy enough to feed all of us."

"Wes…ley…" a faint voice said from the floor.

"Lauren!" Wesley cried out, barely able to pick himself up.

"Well, it looks like the little bitch is still alive," one of the figures said, picking up Lauren's body by the collar and swinging it back and forth. Drops of crimson blood fell to the carpet below, some of it from her blonde hair.

Lauren barely managed to lift her head, trying to reach a trembling hand out to where she'd heard her brother's voice.

Wesley's blue eyes met hers as they went dark.

"She didn't last long," the thug said, throwing her back to the ground.

"That just leaves you," the first figure said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he stepped forward.

"Come on, man! I'm still parched here!" one of the thugs said, licking his lips with intense bloodlust.

The lead vampire hissed at the other, baring his fangs that were stained red from his last drink.

"That old bag of shit didn't taste good in the slightest! You got the sweet tasting bitches, so I get first bite off of this piece of meat!"

Wesley tried to stand and strike at them again, but the leader simply dodging, slamming Wesley back into the wall and gripping his throat with a tight fist.

"That's right. Fight back. Struggling makes the blood pump faster…" he said, opening his fanged maws and leaning towards Wesley's throat. The rank smell of fresh blood wafted up into Wesley's face, and he struggled to get himself free from his grip.

A loud crack of bone resounded through the house, and the vampire thug froze in place. Looking down, a hand protruded from his chest, slick with the creature's blood.

His grip on Wesley's neck fell limp, and he cried out in agony as he was lifted into the air by the arm that stuck out of his rib cage. A loud blast of a gunshot boomed as a bullet passed through his head, and the vampire's body fell limp to the ground and began to fall apart.

Having taken only a few seconds to accomplish, the other two vampire thugs weren't so quick on the uptake. They both turned to see a man completely dressed in black with mirrored shades standing in the middle of the room, one arm covered in blood and a pistol in the other.

"What the-" the sentence was cut short by a massive punch to the vampire's face that let out a symphony of cracks and fractures as the face shattered beneath the man's fist. The vampire flew through the wall and out into the back yard, writhing in pain as he clutched at his face while black blood drops oozed from between his fingers.

"You bastard!" the other vampire yelled, leaping onto the man's back and biting down on his neck from behind. A very distinct sound of snapping bone was heard, and the man fell to his knees.

A few moments of silence passed before the vampire leapt off of the man's back, howling in pain and covering his mouth. As he continued to yell and spit in his agony, little bits of tooth and fang fell from his maw. Wesley caught a glimpse of two large canine fangs that were completely cracked up to the gums.

"What the hell are you?!" the vampire yelled, tears streaming from his eyes while he tried to keep his mouth from feeling any worse.

The agent stood up, turned to the vampire, and aimed his pistol right for his face.

"That's classified."

Another gunshot put the vampire out of his misery, and a third ended the torture of the vampire with a broken face.

Wesley slid down the wall, eyes wide and breathing heavily. The full impact of what had just happened left him in a state of shock.

"You're injured," the agent said, lifting Wesley to his feet. "Come with me."

"They're… they're…" Wesley stammered running his fingers along the trail of blood that had streamed down his face.

"It's alright," the agent said. "They aren't suffering anymore."

Finding himself once again in a hospital bed, Wesley stared blankly down at his bed sheets without moving a muscle. Any words that were spoken to him sounded like far off echoes in the distance, and any movement around him seemed more like a cloud passing across the sky in his vision, nothing but a shadow blocking the light for a moment.

All he could see or hear were his sister's eyes as she spoke his name before she died.

Those blue eyes. That red blood.

"Wes…ley…" her voice echoed again and again.

"Wesley!" a familiar voice now broke through his fog.

Blinking and looking up, he met the sight of two smaller reflections of himself in the glasses of the man in black. Even from those small visages of himself, he could see the swelling around his red eyes against the pale white of his skin. The sight of himself brought up a fresh lump in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it back down again. He couldn't stand seeing the blue of his own eyes.

The agent sat down in a seat next to Wesley's hospital bed, removing the black fedora from his head as well as the glasses from his face. He kept his head down, not willing to look him in the eyes just yet.

"Mr. Felix…" he began, "I'm truly sorry for your loss."

Wesley remained silent.

"…We had been tracking that small pack of vampires for quite some time. Their numbers had reached near extermination, and they became desperate. So they sought out a source of nourishment before trying to take us on again. They just so happened to have chosen…"

He coughed, clearing his throat. After a few moments of silence, he continued.

"…I happened to have been surveying your home when they struck. With the speeds those creatures are capable of I was barely able to arrive in time to save you."

Still no response. Deciding it was rather futile to try and continue to converse with him at this point, the man in black stood, replacing the glasses over his eyes.

"If there is anything we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

He turned away and walked toward the door.

"…I'm in."

The agent's hand hesitated over the doorknob. He turned back toward Wesley, who now looked him straight in the eye with an intensity that could have been compared to a predator staring down an adversary. But the violent desire he sensed from Wesley wasn't geared toward him.

Walking back to his bedside, he looked down at Wesley with a stern expression.

"Once you've become one of us, there is no going back to what you were. You'll be outside of both society and the law. Any relationships you have up until now will be prohibited."

"You said it was a pack that attacked us," Wesley said. "Those bastards killed my brothers in arms, now my family…"

He inhaled deeply, trying to maintain his composure. His lower lip shook with a combination of sorrow and fury.

"I'll kill every last one of them," he said, once again glaring up at the mirrored shades above him.

"Very well, Mr. Felix," he said, extending a hand. Wesley shook it firmly.

"Welcome to the Men in Black."

END EPISODE I