Author's Notes: An affectionate crossover between Hellsing and Repo! The Genetic Opera. I thought they were similar enough. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, Kohta Hirano does. I do not own Repo-I don't know has that privilege, but it ain't me.

Warning: Unlike many of my other cutesy, happy, kiddy stories, this fic contains graphic blood, gore, drugs, sex, violence, death, insanity, and other themes that would make Kohta Hirano proud. But if you do not like it, I suggest you turn back now.

At the turn of the 20th century, the world erupted in war.

As the sun set below the horizon, dozens of zeppelins flew over the city of London to unleash an army of a thousand vampires. Buildings were destroyed, civilians were butchered alive, and the dead rose as flesh-eating ghouls to prey on the living. Even the angels themselves seemed to turn on the city of London, as celestial aircrafts came to gun down the few survivors. Panic erupted, hope seemed lost. The capital of the country that had once dominated the entire world was brought to its knees.

Thankfully, Hellsing was there the fight off the attackers. Led by Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, with the help of her devoted trump card Alucard and his loyal fledgling Seras, it seemed the invaders had met their match. In the War That Lasted For One Night, the invaders' numbers were greatly diminished, and for a short time, it seemed that Justice would prevail.

But there was a traitor in their midst.

Giving up Hellsing's most valuable secrets in exchange for power, the invaders were able to turn the tide almost immediately. Before dawn broke on that fateful morning, Alucard was defeated, and his fledgling along with him. Even Sir Integra, the once proud leader of the illustrious Hellsing Organization, did not live to see the sun rise.

With their main competition eliminated, the attackers were free to move on to Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, then beyond Europe and hit every major city across the globe. Every night, the number of undead increased by the thousands. No matter how much the humans regrouped during the day, they were faced with too many undead than they could fully defeat at night.

It was almost as if the enemy was turning out vampires off a factory line.

Eventually, what few world leaders were left decided to use nuclear weapons to kill the nightwalkers. The results were catastrophic. Not only did it kill humans by the millions, but it barely made a dent in the ever-rising undead population. Radiation poisoning contaminated the environment, and clean food and water became nearly impossible to find. Starving humans became violently ill and died right and left, and nearly all babies were born with terrible birth defects that made the future for humanity seem hopeless. Even those resilient enough to survive the worst of the scourge found themselves faced with a whole new kind of sickness.

By the middle of the 21st century, organ failure had become a worldwide epidemic.

Nature failed as radiation spread. What's more, the dead, walking or otherwise, outnumbered the living by literally a thousand to one. Those who were not killed outright by the undead became infected with their residual toxins. With livable conditions so scarce and the future so bleak, chaos ensued. Humans dropped like flies, this time from within, but from without, and those that were left were terrified as no group of human beings were ever terrified before. Panic erupted anew. Thousands of were piled up like holocaust victims in the streets; make-shift surgeons struggled to find suitable organs for countless dying patients, and grave robbers fought like starving dogs over partially usable organs, no matter how damaged they were.

Fortunately, Millennium was there to satisfy the demand for organ replacements.

Out of the chaos emerged a company that contained an unlimited supply of synthetic organs. Hearts, lungs, livers, bladders, thyroids, stomachs, pancreas; no matter what the need, Millennium had it in abundance. Clean, sterilized hospitals were built, and premium emergency medical care was established for the first time in half a century. Like all high-quality merchandise, though, the cost of the medical care and synthetic organs was rather steep.

"It is just as I suspected," the Dok said to his thirtieth patient on the first day of opening, "If you do not get a heart transplant... you will die."

The young mother, world-weary from fighting undead all her life, could barely compress a sigh when she read the price.

"But I can't afford heart surgery," she said. She could barely barter enough to feed her children. How could she afford a new heart?

The Dok smiled his wicked, wicked smile from behind the shadows, his many-lensed glasses reflecting the surgical light. "No problem."

He snapped his skinny gloved fingers to the GENterns.

The GENterns were make-shift nurses in tiny white dresses and impossibly high heels. Beautiful, buxom and flirtatious to boot, it was doubtful they had any medical training at all, yet they sauntered over to the young mother seductively and handed her a clipboard with different payment plans on it. The way they sighed, moaned and rubbed up against her made the young mother suspect they were coming on to her, but she had seen stranger things in her life, so she only reviewed her options carefully.

"As you can see," the Dok said, "MillenniCo offers a vast variety of payment options, making it affordable for everyone."

"But I don't have any money," the young mother said. "It's been useless for so long."

"Not a problem," the Dok smiled his reptilian smile, "A secretary position just opened in one of our offices. You can use your first pay check as a down payment."

The young mother had no idea what a pay check was, but what choice did she have? It was better than dying of heart failure. Who would feed her children?

With serious misgivings, but no other alternatives, she signed the contract.

The young mother was only one of the very few who felt uneasy about the new organ system. Most death-fearing humans clamoured to the new organs like ocean divers to tanks of oxygen, and they praised Millennium up and down for saving their lives. No more did they scavenge like animals out in the graveyards, no more did they gut their neighbors for kidneys, no more did they flock to fresh corpses in the streets like starving animals to a food trough. With clean, affordable organs available to them in great numbers, they could now focus on other aspects of life besides the immediate life-or-death.

And, though the organs were ungodly expensive, there were alternate payment plans.

"Can't afford a new organ?" many a promotional pamphlet said:

"No problem! Just go on Millennium's Monthly Payment Plan!"

"Join our Payment Plan today! Happiness is but a stitch away!"

"Millennium's Payment Plans Cheat Death!"

Music to the masses' ears. After decades of struggling to survive just to see another sunrise, they could finally pause to enjoy the finer things in life. Clean organs were sold to virtually every human that needed them, jobs were opened to pay for the said organs, and street markets were available to provide food for those who were no longer dying. The population finally stabilized; a make-shift city was built over the rubble, and a great monolith with a blaring MillenniCo emblem was erected in the center of it all; and at the center of MillenniCo sat Major Montana Max, an exceptionally overweight man whose wide smile was as creepy as it was genial. He was hailed as a hero by the humans.

With MillenniCo firmly entrenched in the center of the new world, Major Montana Max wasted no time in spreading his influence in every part of the city. Not only did he have a monopoly on the economy (providing not only organs, but the majority of jobs that could pay for said organs) but he took over law enforcement too. He and his right hand Hans Günsche and Jan Valentine developed the MillenniCop police force to patrol the city, which immediately drove back the now-waning undead population so the humans were free to walk the streets at night at last. He took over the press, along with the handsome Luke Valentine and the beautiful Rip Van Winkle, and together they pushed surgery as a fashion statement. Humans ate it up, and soon the majority of the population was buying organs weekly as a luxury and not just as a necessity, "because it's what's on the inside that counts."

But having multiple surgeries one after the other can be very trying on the human body, so Major Montana Max and his right hand Doktor developed Zydrate, a euphoric painkiller that hooked those that were not already addicted to surgery. Zydrate was very expensive and only available for those immediately going under the knife, which assured the population's dependence on MillenniCo's organs and surgery. (Soon, the line between who was taking zydrate just for surgery and who was taking surgery just for zydrate became blurred.)

Still, cheap alternative forms of zydrate became available on the black market . . . extracted from the dead.

Pip Bernadotte, a former mercenary and current grave robber, made his living by plundering the countless graveyards all around the city. "Not for mere jewels or trinkets," he would say, "But something much more valuable . . . something that never goes away, even when after die . . ." And he would stick the corpses with needles and syringes to extract the glowing blue liquid of zydrate, which was always in such high demand, and he would gleefully side-step the MillenniCops that patrolled the graveyards for illegal grave-robbing activities. He grew rather cocky and cunning from his endeavors, but soon MillenniCo released a new horror that made even he quake in his books, for anon have I not said that Major Montana Max controlled the new society?

Millennico manipulated the government as well as anything else, and it started pushing for a new bill that quickly passed through Parliament.

"ORGAN REPOSSESSIONS ARE LEGALIZED!" the papers read the following morning.

To recap, Major Montana Max sat as the absolute head of MillenniCo. His right hand was the Doktor who designed the organs and the zydrate, and his left was Captain Hans Günsche who was not only his silent bodyguard, but also the one who put muscle behind MillenniCo's authority (no one dared to challenge him when the Captain was around). Max's successors, extracted from the veins of an enemy, included the smartly dressed Luke Valentine, head of the economy; the crude and vulgar Jan Valentine, head of law enforcement ("Boo Dee Doo Murder People"); and the beautiful Rip Van Winkle, head of the fashion district. Together, they led the world's most powerful, efficient organization.

But for those who cannot keep up with their organ payments . . . MillenniCo sends in the Angel of Death.

Not much is known about the Angels of Death, except that they are a group of specialized legal assassins that go out to repossess MillenniCo's property when people default on their organ payments.

And when they find you . . . your time is up.

The grave robber Pip Bernadotte, who could often be seen hanging out in the trash fire-lit alleys along with the homeless and the scalpel sluts, explained over a horror story one night.

"Out from ze night, from the mists, steps the figure,

Nobody really knows 'is name for sure,

'E stands at six foot six, 'ead and shoulders,

Pray 'e never comes knocking at your door."

At the same time that he was telling the story, a very terrified dumpster whore with big hair was scrambling along a neighboring alley. It was ten minutes past midnight; she had defaulted on her payment. Though she would not have missed it for anything in the world, she simply could not raise enough money for this month's payment, and MillenniCo did not accept partial pay for monthly payments. Knowing it was just a matter of time, but still terrified none the less, she ran from door to door, banging frantically and tugging fruitlessly at the locks that kept her exposed to the night.

"Say zat you once bought a heart, or new cornias,

But somehow never managed to square away your debts,

'E won't bozer to write or to phone you,

'E'll just rip ze still-beating 'eart from your chest!"

Out on the main street, the MillenniCops were loading a torn-up corpse with an open chest into the MillenniCo dumpster truck. It was already full from dozens of defaulted victims of the Angel of Death. In fact, this brand of dumpster trucks was designed specifically for Angel of Death victims, for there were dozens scattered and left to rot all along the city. No need to keep them lying where they could decrease moral. From somewhere above her, the dumpster whore heard a loud cry of agony that told her the Angel of Death had claimed another victim.

"Now you can run, you can 'ide, you can try to,

But he always 'as a way of finding you,

'E will come at your weakest hour,

Where no one is around who might rescue you."

The dumpster whore stumbled into a large elevator-a rickety, case-like contraption-pulled the heavy wooden door down with a loud THUD! and slammed on the button with the palm of her hand, which buzzed loudly and the elevator began to rise. She knew that being in there made her a sitting duck, but being in such a large, heavy, enclosed space gave her a temporary feeling of safety. But the Angel of Death was waiting for her when it arrived on the next floor. With his body shrouded in shadows and the light reflected off his monocle, he effortlessly lifted the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

"And none of us are free from zis 'orror,

For many years ago we all fell in debt,

New body parts were needed to perfect our image

And until our debts are cleared, we will live in fear of ze-"

"Angel of Death," was the last word the dumpster whore murmured before her throat was slit with a razor-like wire. Frozen in shock, she gasped and gurgled in her own blood, and the Angel of Death maintained eye contact with her until she fell to the floor. Then, working swiftly and efficiently, the Angel of Death tied her hands and legs with his wires and cut into her chest with a large carving knife. Unable to struggle or scream, she could only lay there with her face contorted in agony while the Angel of Death peeled back the skin, muscles, bones and flesh that covered her chest. Then, carefully snipping at the veins and arteries that attached the organ to her body, the Angel of Death deftly removed the heart form her body and nonchalantly glanced at the bar code that marked it as MillenniCo's property, indifferent to the young woman who died by his hand.

For that is the way of the Angel of Death.

Traditionally, the murder of a dumpster whore (whose name is Melissa, by the way) is the perfect place to end a chapter, but there is more that you must know before we can move on.

I have told you that the Angel of Death is the only one the Grave Robber Pip Bernadotte fears, but have I told you that Pip is the only one who has ever survived an Angel of Death encounter?

It began on a dark night just like every other, in a torch-lit graveyard under smoky clouds that cover the stars and the moon. He was there robbing—what else?—graves. But this was a much nicer graveyard than most, covered in engraved tomb stones shaped like crosses, angels and other Gothic statues. He easily by-passed the patrolling MillenniCops (not surprising, since they consisted of ghouls) and encountered a large tomb attached to an old fashioned Victorian Era mansion. Thinking that a wealth of zydrate-rich bodies were buried inside, he managed with some difficulty to weasel his way in, only to discover a single sarcophagus stationed in the centre of an empty room.

"But no matter," he said to himself, "for ze wealthy 'ave new surgeries every week at least, and I shall find a potent stash in zis place."

He pushed back the lid of the sarcophagus to find a single, wrinkled, withered corpse of a woman with short, messy blonde hair.

"But hark, what is this?" he said out loud, "Someone steps this way; it cannot be a MillenniCop, for they are too stupid and slow to know where I am. But oh, I know that guarded cat's crawl anywhere and the monocle that glints in the light—it must be the Angel of Death! Crap, he's coming this way—excuse me Miss, would you mind sharing your bed with me? Merci mon cheri," and he crawled into the sarcophagus beside her and closed the stone cover over him.

The Angel of Death was not fooled; he knew exactly where the grave robber was and would have gone after him at any other time, but now he hesitated at the door. If the grave robber had been looking, he would have seen a strangle emotion well up in the eyes of the otherwise stoic, nonchalant Shinigami. Was it sorrow? Remorse? Regret? We shall never know, for he then turned away from the tomb and stalked away.

The grave robber listened to him go, wiped what he thought was sweat from his forehead, and turned to the girl smugly.

"Alone at last," he whispered huskily, "Now, let's see what priceless treasures you have hidden in that pretty little body of yours."

"SLRP!"

Pip froze in terror.

"SLRP!"

He wasn't expecting to hear a response from the girl, but there is was.

"SLRP!"

Unable to believe it, he fumbled for a zydrate vial and held it up to light the sarcophagus.

What he saw was the shriveled corpse, no longer a corpse at all, now a beautiful young woman with short blonde hair and large breasts lapping up the blood he had unwittingly spilled in her coffin with a smooth, pink tongue. When she had lapped up the last of the blood, she turned her large blue eyes up to face his, and they glowed such a vibrant shade of red that the blue light he held shrunk back impotently. He had never seen anything as sexy or as terrifying as her in his entire life, and he had lived through a lot. She then smirked, barred her long shark-like teeth, snarled viciously and lunged at him with claws out-stretched.

Only a human as terrified as the grave robber was at that moment could throw back the stone lid as fast as he did and still survive the crash. In the next instant he grabbed his back of instruments and threw it in front of him defensively. The vampire girl slashed the bag away impatiently, only to shatter several zydrate vials and splashing herself all over with glowing blue liquid. She then let out a terrible, deafening screech that only the undead could make.

Seeing his chance to escape, the grave robber retreated backwards, only to crash into the Angel of Death. They were mutually focused on two different things at that moment: the Angel of Death on moving toward the girl, and the grave robber on moving away from her. So they pushed off each other and went their separate ways. The Angel of Death silenced the girl, for her screams stopped abruptly, and the grave robber escaped into the night. He didn't stop or look back till dawn, so he never saw what became of the vampire girl he had awakened, or the Angel of Death he had lured into her tomb.

At least, not for many years.