Disclaimer: I don't own 'Black Lagoon' or 'Hellsing: Ultimate'. They are owned by their respective owners and this work is purely for entertainment purposes. Also, this is a SI story, so don't like the genre, please don't flame me for the choice. Keep criticisms to any flaws in the story, not the genre.

Chapter 1: The encounter in Roanapur

"It's too damn hot," I muttered, lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling where a fan pushed cold air down onto me. I was in a loose-fitting shirt and light weight shorts, my usual nightwear as I was, even after a lifetime and then some, still too prudish to sleep in the nude.

As I cursed the heat of the South-East Asian Summer, a news reporter for the BBC was giving some report.

"And today, a mass was held for those lost in the hospital in Bodrick, North Ireland after a fatal buildup of carbon monoxide killed most of the patients and staff. The cause of the buildup is still unknown, but it is suspected-"

I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. I snorted at the bullshit I heard; mass casualties by carbon monoxide poisoning in a building as large as a hospital? Give me a fucking break, only someone incredibly stupid or unthinking would fall for that lie. But it made me wonder what the Brits were covering up.

However, the phone in my room rang, causing me to drop the line of questioning. I sighed; probably work related, so I wonder who pissed who off enough to contact me. Grabbing the phone, I speak.

"Vincent speaking," I said, mentally noting how in this life, I still had my old name.

"Hello Vincent," came the voice of the boss of the Hong Kong Triad boss, Mr. Chang. "I heard you don't have any jobs now and I came across something you might be interested in dealing with."

"Oh, and what might that be?" I asked, walking over to the dresser which served double duty as my gun locker.

"A few days ago, one of my men noted someone sneaking off one of our smuggling ships into the city," Mr. Chang said. "While they couldn't make out much, they noted a red Beret and a L85A2 the man had on him."

"What the hell is a Brit doing here in Roanapur?" I asked. I heard Mr. Chang sigh.

"I don't know, but whatever he is doing, I want him found so I can have Shenhua interrogate him," Mr. Chang answered. This time it was my turn to sigh.

"You know her English is absolutely dreadful, I doubt the twat will know what she means," I told the Triad boss. "But whatever, you got any ideas on where the Brit scuttled off to?"

Mr. Chang quickly told me that the last time the Brit was sighted was near Hotel Moscow's territory before hanging up. Quietly pocketing my phone, I opened my dresser, which besides my clothes and guns, had a mirror, letting me look as the piss poor shape of me.

I was 6'8", but unlike when I was younger, I was heavily emasculated, my ribs showing through my pale skin, my arms having next to no meat on them, and my gut, once there was a mighty beer gut was now concaved. I sighed, knowing damn well it was my fault for the shape I was in. If only I hadn't given in to instincts. Shaking my head to stop the memories from coming forth, I opened the top drawer, where my guns lay waiting for me.

First was my trusty pistol, a Ruger Blackhawk. Single Action revolver with a 6.5" barrel, chambered in .357 magnum, with a 6-round capacity. I didn't modify it, seeing that the thing was built like a tank, but I did craft my own ammo for my 'specialty job'. I have never found a pistol I liked better than this one.

Next came a gift from Balalaika, a Ks-23 shotgun. I had the barreled cut off as short a physically possible and turned the stock into a pistol grip, with a shell holder on the left side of the shotgun for quick reloads. I used this 23mm shotgun to blow open doors, and with some special shells act as a pseudo grenade launcher.

Finally came my oldest weapon, one I had one me when I made my worst mistake ever, one that I refused to remove from the case I had made for it. I didn't deserve to wield it, not after my failure to keep my faith. It was a beauty that one such as myself didn't deserve to see.

"Better get to work then," I muttered as I geared up, mentally preparing myself for the hunt.

If there is one thing I despise more than hot, muggy, summer days, its hunting a slippery bastard on a hot, muggy, summer day. I had been after the Brit, using contacts I knew, from Hotel Moscow to the Italian Mafia, and asking people on the street, but the Brit kept eluding me.

If you are wondering how I could contact the Russian Mafia, the Italian Mafia, and the Hong Kong Triad without issue, let me explain. I work as an independent contractor, taking on jobs no one wants to deal with, often when it could erupt into a gang war, and dealing with the 'freaks' that sometimes try to make Roanapur their bitch. In exchange for my services, the various criminal organizations grant me gifts or favors that I can call in at a later date.

One final thing; I act as the city's ultimate deterrent against uppity outside forces that would love to shut down this criminal city. I may not like everyone here; hell, I probably would kill a quarter of the city due to how much they piss me off, but I hate those two face bastards that call themselves civilized individuals, where they speak of freedom yet conveniently put a gun to your head when it suits them, while waving the banner of some nation. You live as long as I, you realize all governments are the same tyrannical institutes they were back when civilization was being born.

But right now, as I stalk the dark alleys of Roanapur, I grow increasingly pissed off at how long the Brit, whose name and details eludes me, has been out of my sight.

GRRR!

~sigh~ Great, now I'm hungry. Just fan-fucking-tastic. Sadly, the only place I trust to eat near me was the Yellow Flag. I didn't mind going there; at night, where I can sit at the bar and no one bothers me. During the day though, people who don't recognize me try to fuck with me, leading to me having to evict their asses, much to Bao's annoyance.

GRRRRR!

Damn it, my hunger my be sated, even if its something at the Yellow Flag. I make my way there, quietly mulling over the little details of the Brit I have.

First the beret; unless I'm mistaken, which I could be, then a red beret should mean they are of the British Paratroopers. Which would make the choice of the L85A2, the bullpup assault rifle of the British armed forces, apparent. But that still left a shit ton of details in the dark; how long of a veteran was the Brit, did he have combat experience, was he apart of any other regiments?

The second was that he smuggled into Roanapur on one of Mr. Chang's ships. They rarely deviate from their smuggling routes, so unless the Brit was simply choosing any ship, he was intending to travel to Roanapur. Which begs the question, why was the Brit in Roanapur?

There were no British criminal organizations in Roanapur for a very good reason; where British criminal activity goes, the IRA follows, and where the IRA goes, so too does the British army. Thus whenever some dumb Brit thinks to start some enterprise in Roanapur, he was usually contacted to take care of the unwanted trash. I didn't mind, I had more than one reason to despise Britain, maybe not enough to aid the IRA, but certainly enough to dealing with any unwanted twats.

GRRRR!

God damn it, I getting-oh I am at the Yellow Flag, and the sun is setting. Great, my search is going to be so much harder now, as most of the criminal organizations will be doing their heavy lifting now, when the sun is down, and the air is cool. Which meant finding a Brit, even if he does stick out, would be a nightmare. I can hunt just fine in the dark, but I must capture the Brit, which means I can't go all out. This fucking blows; Mr. Chang had better have one helluva reward waiting for me.

Stepping inside, I see Bao wiping a glass. He notices me quickly.

"Ah, Vincent, the usual?"

"Yeah, and also bring out one of my sandwiches," I said, ignoring his grimace. I can't help that my body has different needs than that of others, so apologies about what goes into my sandwich. As I wait for my meal to arrive I look around the bar, watching the patrons gambling what little cash they had, drinking themselves into a stupor, mingling with the girls from the brothel upstairs, or getting into fights over some stupid shit.

It was then some guy came in; brown hair, average height, moderate build, a stubby goatee, wearing a white wife-beater and shorts. At first, I was about to ignore him, but not only did he decide to sit right next to me, but then he spoke.

"Eh, bar keep, how 'bout a pint of lager, fresh of the tap?" the man, obviously British, said. Bao nodded, and I looked sideways at the man. I was never one for discretion and the man noticed me.

"Eh, whatcha looking at?" the man asked. I shrugged, deciding to see if this guy will prove my instincts on this being the guy I was after.

"Nothing, you looked like someone I knew," I lied, well sort of. Do you know how many men with his build I've seen in my long ass life?

"Ah, I see, but I doubt I'm whoever you think I reminded you of," the man said. "The names Jack Sloan, former British army sergeant of the paratroopers."

"That must've been interesting," I said. "So, what brings you out to Roanapur Mr. Sloan?"

"Ah, well that's a bit of a long story, and one I think you wouldn't believe if I told you," Jack said. "But suffice it to say, when I was in the army, I was sent to act as a soldier for an organization, and one thing led to another, and I had to get out."

"So, you're a deserter?" I asked, my right hand gripping my Blackhawk tightly. I despised cowards; nothing was more disgusting than to abandon your comrades just to save your own skin. I rather commit my greatest sin again than become a deserter.

"When you put it like that, it makes me sound like a jack ass, but trust me, the people I worked under, what they controlled, you wouldn't want to stay around," Jack said, shuddering. I paused, wondering what he meant by 'what they controlled'.

Thankfully for Jack, my meal and his drink arrived. I greedily dug into my sandwich, taking only a quick gulp of my Jägermeister and root beer to help clear my throat. Jack meanwhile drank on his lager, gazing as the prostitutes. It wasn't long before I finished devouring my sandwich, sighing quietly; it hadn't filled me up, although then again nothing had, not for a long time.

"Well, besides deserting your unit, what did you think coming to Roanapur would do for you?" I inquired. Jack shrugged.

"Don't know really, perhaps sell what I had on the organization, hopefully start a new life where they can't find me, who the fuck kno-" Before Jack could finish, I saw a brief flash of light outside of the window of the bar, before Jack's head exploded.

"Shit!" Bao shouted. I snarled; Mr. Chang would be pissed. I turned to the barkeep.

"Bao, shut the lights and everyone get down!" I ordered. The Vietnamese barkeep quickly complied as did the rest of the patrons. I grabbed my Blackhawk, and quickly rushed through the window, hell bent on catching those who killed my mark.

"Master, target is…neutralized," a blonde woman with a filled-out body commented.

"Very good Seras," a man wearing a red hat and frock overcoat calmly said. Seras sighed; it hadn't been long since she became a vampire. Ever since responding to the incident at Cheddar, Seras had been dealing with all sorts of new bullshit. From newly made vampires and their ghouls, to homicidal Catholic priests, nothing seemed normal. In fact, the fact that killing a deserter of Hellsing was the most normal thing just went to show how far from normal her life has become.

"Anyway Seras, we need to return to HQ and report to Integra," her master Alucard stated. "Pack the rifle an-Look out Seras!"

Seras instinctively side stepped, but alas whatever her master saw was too fast, and she was quickly being held neck restraint. She was about to fight her way, but she felt the cold press of a barrel pressed underneath her jaw.

"If you so much as fight vampire, I'll blow out your god damn brains," a English-speaking voice stated with an air of authority and rage. Seras could feel the man's wrath quite clearly, and while it wasn't like the killing intent of Alexander Anderson, it was enough to give her pause. The speaker then turned his attention to Alucard.

"So, tell me, master vampire, why are you and your fledgling doing in Roanapur, no less killing a man that a person of considerable power was wanting to interrogate?" Seras saw her master smirk; oh dear god, please antagonize the man with a gun to my head, Seras prayed.

"Heh, the criminals that scurry around the city play at power," Alucard said lightly, before his expression change, becoming deadly serious. "Although, the distance and elevation from this rooftop and the bar is easily thrice the length of a football field, no ordinary human could hope to cross that distance as fast as you did. Plus we had intervening buildings, so most likely you are of a supernatural persuasion."

"Right thus far, master vampire," the man said. "But alas, the discussion isn't about how I got here, it's about why you two are here. Perhaps we could exchange names first off, then move onto more pressing matters?"

"Release my fledgling and I promise I won't gun you down," Alucard said. Seras was then released, and she quickly move to Alucard's side, taking a look at the man who had her restrained. She was shocked to see a skeleton of a man reach her and keep her in his grip with how weak he looked.

"There, your fledgling is released, now details," the man said. Alucard sighed.

"My name's Alucard, and this here is Seras Victoria, now how about informing us of yours?"

I mentally sigh as I processed the master vampire's name. Alucard, the proclaimed 'No-Life King', the trump card of the Hellsing Organization, and very rarely heard of. The only reason I knew of him was because I stumbled upon reports a few decades, before I came to Roanapur, that mentioned him. Needless to say, I didn't like this development. But the man did give his and his fledgling's name, so I must respond in kind.

"The name's Vincent Moran," I said imperiously. "Now, pray tell why Hellsing wanted the man I was after dead?" I was only asking to be sure of what I presumed.

"Jack Sloan was one of our security personnel who was caught sending encrypted information to someone. While the information was too important, it was deemed he was a threat to be taken care of," Alucard said. "Now why were talking to him in the first place?" I holstered my revolver, doubting the discussion to get loud.

"I was tracking Mr. Sloan because one of my contacts wanted to chat with the man for being a lousy stowaway on one of his supply vessels," I said. "But now you gone and killed Mr. Sloan, leaving me to have to explain to my contact why he won't get to have his lovely chat."

"I see, so you or your contact weren't involved with whatever Mr. Sloan was up to?" Alucard asked. I shook my head.

"No one in Roanapur wants to deal with the British Government response to terrorists," I stated calmly. "Often why we take care to have no crime families or groups from Britain set up roost here. Now, is there anything else, because I sorely want you and your fledgling out of my home."

Alucard sized me up for a moment before looking me dead in the eyes.

"What are you?" Alucard asked. I frowned; perhaps I was too hasty putting away my Blackhawk.

"Why would that matter to you?"

"Because I know you aren't a vampire; you barely look human, more like a husk than anything, yet you aren't a shambling ghoul. I encountered a werekin before, but you lack the smell. No, in fact, the most prevailing smell is the stench of rotting flesh. So, I ask again; what are you?"

I sighed, not really wanting to show my hand, but I didn't really feel like fighting tonight.

"I don't suppose you are willingly to let the subject drop if I say I pose no immediate threat to the Crown and her subjects, would you?" At Alucard's headshake I rolled my eyes. "Of course not. Fine then, if I answer, will you two immediately leave and vow not to return?"

"Hmph, fine, however if my master orders it…"

"Then you'll return, and we have some big old show down, I get it," I said, quite annoyed. "Then here's the answer."

In an instant I let loose my hate and restraint, letting my body shift. My bones lengthen and expand, my skin seemingly tearing to accommodate my new frame, and my skull become that of a massive exposed moose skull, with tuffs of bloodied skin hanging from my antlers. my body is covered in blood-matted fur, and my rib cage is heavily exposed. I bring my face down to Alucard's before speaking.

"I am the last Wendigo," I growl, letting my miasma of killing intent freely flow. "I hope this quenches your curiosity, vampire." As quickly as I changed I revert back to my 'human' form. "Now leave."

I didn't wait for their response as I casually walked off the edge of the building, trusting the two to leave. I hope that I never see them in the future, but I didn't count on it.

The British like to insert themselves into the affairs of others over leaving well enough alone. Inevitable, I'd have to deal with the British once more.

Author's Note: So yes, a new story, as though I don't already have enough of those. Never mind my irritation of my mind not being able to focus on what I have, let's discuss this story.

I've started watching 'Black Lagoon' quite recently, and while I haven't finished watching the series yet, I did enjoy the arc involving the incompetent Neo-Nazis. So I started thinking of possible crossovers to do with 'Black Lagoon'. There were a few, but none, except for 'Hellsing Ultimate' and 'Jormungand', really struck out to me.

So why 'Hellsing Ultimate' over 'Jormungand', and why a self-insert type story? Well, 'Jormungand' and 'Black Lagoon' are quite similar, action pack stories with a wide range of characters with different backgrounds, but they were too similar to justify a cross-over. Plus I want to tackle a 'Jormungand' story that I've had for some time, yet it involves a different story that wouldn't mesh well with 'Black Lagoon', plus I want to avoid 3-way crossover; it becomes too difficult to keep track of vital story details.

So with 'Hellsing Ultimate', I can have two stories, one where my SI-OC deals with Roanapur's usual issues and one where he has to deal with Millennium, Hellsing, and Iscariot. Plus, I quite frankly hate Nazis and so with this I get to put a bullet between some Jack-boots, so yeah.

As for why a SI type story, well I've never done one, and I've seen it done with reincarnation fics, or universe-traveling fics, but never where the SI is apart of that universe from the start. They always have some form of pre-knowledge due to their reincarnation or whatever the case is. I didn't want that, as that to me cheapens the experience. Now I've seen people subvert it through steering the story down a new path, but I don't want to do that too much.

So instead, I decided that my self-insert would be me, as if I was in that universe and under the conditions I would be putting myself under. No pre-knowledge to cheat the universe, no guarantee success because I know everything. So, this SI would have my flaws, my strengths, and my general personality.

Now onto the big issue I can see coming; 'then why are you a wendigo? There aren't wendigos in real life so why are you in this story? Are you trying to make a Mary Sue character?' Let me explain.

I am a gluttonous person; despite being 6'8", I weigh 420 pounds, or over a 1/5th of a ton. This is because despite my best efforts to regulate how much I eat, I just enjoy eating. So, when I was coming up with this story, I thought this, 'what supernatural creature would I be if my personality and behavior was taken into account?'. I crossed off a ton of options (vampires are overdone, werewolves in Hellsing Ultimate are next to nil, etc), until I thought of Wendigos.

A wendigo very briefly as I'll touch more in depth on the subject is a person who becomes possessed by an evil spirit usually after the act of cannibalism. I decided to look up examples and lo and behold, I was disappointed by many examples of what Wendigos looked like. Most are like those from 'Until Dawn's Wendigos; they are basically just cannibalistic Smeagels. Thankfully, From Software's 'Bloodborne' had me covered with the Cleric beast, so I decided to pursue details about Wendigos more.

Suffice to say I've come up with an interesting back story for my SI-OC that explains how he became a Wendigo, why he hates the Brits, why he's in Roanapur and why he can free-lance amongst the crime groups, and what is going to happen. It will not be 'omg, he's so OP, he get's all the bitches, blah, blah, blah,' story, oh no, there will be moments when you get to laugh at me because what happens to the SI-OC may actually have happen to me, which I will leave this handy * symbol to mark when something happens that has actually happened to me.

So please, leave a review telling me how to improve, this is after all my first SI-story, and I want to make it good. So please read, review, follow, and favorite, and I'll catch you guys next time.

-Panzer4life