A/N: Okay, my first fan fiction. Please forgive any OOCness that might appear, and if you think I'm going in the wrong direction, feel free to give me a kick towards the right one. Also, I'm sorry about the first chapter being so short, subsequent chapters should be longer.


"Good evening, Father."

The Paladin spun around to face the source of the voice. He was halfway through drawing one of his blessed bayonets when he spotted him: he was a tall, thin man, wearing a plain black suit and sporting a long mane of white hair. Somehow, he had managed to enter the chapel soundlessly.

Anderson quickly re-sheathed the holy weapon, and smiled with all the sincerity he could muster.

"Good evening to you, my child. It is a strange hour to seek the word of God, but the church always has its doors open to those in need."

The stranger smiled himself, though when he spoke, he didn't sound remotely amused. "I seek words, but not from God. I need information, and you can provide me with it," he said, with a clearly American accent.

Alexander's smile faded slightly. "I believe you have mistaken me for someone else."

The individual chuckled. "I beg to differ. You are Paladin Alexander Anderson, member of the Iscariot organization. Now, please drop the charade."

Anderson's smile disappeared entirely, and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Slowly, one of his blades slid from his sleeve, and he gripped its handle, preparing to strike at any moment.

The intruder directed his gaze towards the holy bayonet. "Now, now, there's no need to begin the hostilities," he said. "These are hallowed grounds. It would not do to spill blood here. A man of the cloth like you should know better."

"I work for the grace of God. I'm sure He will forgive me, especially if the blood spilt belongs to a heathen," he said, and hurled the bayonet at the figure. However, in an impressive display of dexterity, the stranger snatched the blade out of the air and discarded it to the side. Although he had avoided impalement, the bayonet left a deep gash between his fingers. He then reached inside his shirt and, with a smirk upon his face, pulled out a small, silver and gold cross, its thin chain around his neck. "Heathen, you say?" he asked, as a few droplets of blood slid from the cut onto the crucifix. "That's a strong accusation. I thought my religion was the same as yours."

The Priest glared at him for a few seconds, and finally relaxed, but did not relinquish his grip on a second bayonet which he had seemingly pulled out from nowhere. "What kind of information do you seek?"

"The whereabouts of a particular being. A vampire, to be precise. You should know him. His name is Alucard."

Alexander's eyes narrowed further. "The demon? What could you possibly want with that unholy monster?"

"You could say it's a personal matter. Now, do you know his location, or not?"

"He is the Hellsing family pet, so I would expect him to be in England, at the manor. You do know where that is, don't you?" he spoke, a crazed grin now replacing the contempt upon his face.

The stranger smiled again. "Yes, indeed. Thank you, Father," he said, and turned to leave. He opened the doors and stepped into the darkness, leaving Anderson alone between the empty pews.