notes: a horizontal rule means change of POV, location, or time-frame. it should be pretty obvious as to which...
Whipping Boy
|Prologue|
Alucard glared at the pathetic, smiling human before him.
It was hard enough getting it through customs, but after carting it through the fetid jungle, subsequently missing his transport, and now having to resort to a commercial flight, he'd be damned if it got confiscated due to some stupid carry-on rule. Anyone who dared touch his property would pay with their life-possibly their soul, if he was feeling particularly malicious.
After the hulking inconvenience of airport security and the continuous grind of countless human minds, he was feeling... -Well, lets just say small children were cowering from him, and wisely so.
The unnaturally perky woman blinked at him, cow-eyed and completely at his mercy despite the powerful stimulants running through her system. Her mind fell before him inevitably, just as the others had, though not without resistance. Coffee, it seemed, was a formidable enemy when consumed in large quantities. (He was banishing every last bit of the vile brew from Hellsing's larder when he returned. He would not allow Integra more weapons than she already had.)
Satisfied with the hapless woman's now manic expression, he hitched up his bundle and continued through the gate to his waiting plane.
He chuckled as he shifted the weight to his shoulder. Oh she'd be mad. Mad enough to lock him away for a while, for sure. But by God it would be worth the look on her face when she unwrapped it. She wouldn't see the irony of it until later, of course, but by then the initial shock will have worn off enough for her to appreciate it. -Maybe.
Or maybe not. Master could be dismally humorless about some things.
Ah well. It was too late to take it back, and truthfully he didn't want to. He did have an ulterior motive, after all. The Police Girl was much too loyal to Integra for her to be of any use in this newest endeavor-for the moment, at least.
Perhaps if she became a No-Life King... -But no.
He didn't see that happening in the near future, so he needed something else to test the waters. That's where his little 'souvenir' came in. It would be perfect, he knew. Just perfect.
He ginned, mindful of the sharp points but uncaring.
England was much too far away.
"Where IS he, Walter? I want a status report, NOW!"
Walter nodded stiffly and slipped the radio headset back on. According to Captain Bernardette, the smuggling vessel hired to escort Alucard back to England had return empty-handed. Their excuse was that the Midian never showed at the rendezvous point and they, having other stops to make, continued on without him.
He made a note to never pay smugglers up front again-even if they insisted.
Tapping in a new frequency, he fumed silently. Intel wasn't Hellsing's primary function-their one true purpose was to smite the undead with the holy iron nail of their Organization. However, if it got out that Hellsing's pet Vampire was on the loose... Well, that would be very bad on all fronts, least of all theirs.
God forbid the Order get wind of this. They were just waiting for a chance to jerk Hellsing out from under its current proxy. If Alucard did anything untoward during his little 'side trip', they would have everything they needed to do so.
No one was more aware of this than Integra, who was on her second cigar of the hour.
This was insanity. What was Alucard thinking? There was nothing of note in a country that was less than 3% populated, other than the undead activity he'd been sent there to destroy. Certainly he wasn't sightseeing, and the vampire activity reported there had the distinct stamp of the FREAK variety. Nothing to slow him down, or even cause him to pause.
He had learned to operate a phone over fifty years ago, so why wasn't he using one now?
When the phone rang Walter jumped a little, startled by it's timing. Looking to Integra, he picked it up and answered with the usual Hellsing greeting. He immediately held it away from his ear as a tinny voice shouted from the other end. Covering the receiver, the butler held a quick conference with his superior.
"It's Sir Penwood. He wants to know why Alucard is at the airport."
The Hellsing Director's platinum brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. Swiping the phone from him, she took over, speaking harshly into the line to cease the man's bellowing.
"SIR PENWOOD! -There's no need for that, -yes. Yes. I heard. He simply missed his transport and had to make due with what was available. -Of course, I knew! Ye- What about a 'large parcel'?-"
They both looked at each other in confusion, before Integra continued.
"Probably just a medical sample. -Well, Sir Cultsworth has been complaining about the lack of medical study going into these FREAKs, so I asked him.. -Well, of course it isn't! Do you think they have that sort of equipment lying about in the jungle? -Sir Penwood, I assure you we have everything under control. It was regrettable that we had to resort to this, but I'm sure we can agree that speed overruns stealth in this matter. I understand. Yes. -Good day, Sir Penwood."
She dropped the phone into its cradle and gave Walter the most chilling glare he'd ever seen.
"Send someone to pick him up. -Not you; I need you here to help me with this mess. Send the Captain, they get along well enough not to kill each other on sight."
Grinding her mostly-spent cigar into the ashtray, she instantly lit up another.
"God help him if he has another hapless chit with him. I'll end his existence myself, I swear..."
Captain Bernardette sighed around his cigarette.
He'd been pulled out of drills to play chauffer to Alucard. Again. It was bad enough they'd been throwing him and the Midian together more times than he was comfortable with, but they always had to give him the jobs any peon (with some terrorist training) could do. Alucard was considered 'the big guns' and when they sent him out with the Trash Collector, he couldn't even be labeled as support.
"Suck it up, Soldier. Today you babysit them. Tomorrow you kill them. The pay is the same, no?"
He blew out an impressive smoke cloud-only to snort it back when a very familiar, very dangerous voice coiled around him like a viper.
"That's an interesting take. Perhaps you should ask for a raise. I doubt you'll get it, but it should be amusing to watch, in any case."
He met the Midian's jackal grin without coughing and without meeting his eye. He'd seen what those eyes could do to a man and, fuck pride, he would swallow lead before becoming a monster's bitch-especially that monster's bitch.
He eyed the large bundle cradled the vampire's arms instead.
"Ah, you want me to get that for you?"
Alucard's grin took on a razor's edge, but he remained silent as he breezed by-the captain's slight apparently forgotten or ignored. He noticed the vaguely oblong bundle was wrapped in the Midian's own red coat, and that the vampire refused to part with it; going so far as to juggle it into the idling car.
Taking one last calming drag, the Captain ground the spent cigarette into the unforgiving pavement and climbed into the driver's seat. His indulgence didn't quell the sense of dread that fell over him when he glanced into the rearview mirror, but they had yet to invent a vice that did that.
He would know. He'd be the first in line.
Pulling out of the airport and into rush-hour traffic, the blond occupied himself with the imaginary destruction of the numerous and nearly motionless obstacles keeping him in this awkward situation.
"Merde. My kingdom for a tank..."
Alexander Anderson surveyed the remnants of the small village with a grimace.
It was obvious the Nosferatu had been here. There were bodies strewn about nearly decapitated; their throat's ragged from the monster's serrated teeth with a liberal smattering of bullet-holes each. Most of the undead had already turned to ash, but there was a wrinkled corpse or two. Or twenty.
Most of the area damage seemed to be from fire. That could only have been Maxwell.
But there was no sign of the man, nor the fell beast Alucard. The Vatican had sent him straight away after finding out that the local government had personally asked Hellsing for aid after Iscariot had already been dispatched by requests from the local clergy. This happened often in places where neither side held dominion, and the likelihood that Hellsing had known of Iscariot's involvement when they had sent their own agents was possible, but unlikely.
Hellsing didn't like to spread themselves out so thin, preferring to stay in their own jurisdictions-especially with their numbers as small as they were. -And especially when it meant certain death.
Frowning, he walked the area, looking for any signs of the young Director.
Maxwell had surprised him by taking this assignment. Before landing his desk job, he had been groomed for field work by Anderson himself. He had expected great things out of the child whose zeal and focus were truly terrible things to behold, but he had been overruled by Father Renaldo, who had seen the boy's skills as something to be harnessed. Yolked.
It had been a bitter argument, but in the end he had no say in the matter. He was just a weapon after all. An instrument of God.
It was a crime though. All that determination tethered to internal politics. Made him sick.
Maxwell seemed to be worse for wear as well. Too much responsibility at such a young age. Too much power. It was souring him. Where there was once a haughty, determined child, there was now a smarmy, sneering young man. Field work would have tempered that out of him, made him into something better. More pure.
In any case, being behind a desk apparently hadn't dulled the man's edge. It was obvious most of the destruction here was wrought by those clever hands, though where the man had procured enough fuel for the explosions and the fires, he could only guess. Most of the country was untouched by man, being large swaths jungle with few creature comforts and even fewer items that required petrol.
It warmed his heart to know that Maxwell wasn't quite lost yet. Maybe the Pope would see just how good he was and reconsider his worth as a field agent.
That was based, of course, on if the man was located.
Seeing that Hellsing's pet vampire had been here as well, there was a possibility that they had encountered each other. Knowing Enrico's mouth, he had probably gotten himself killed. If he didn't find a body or some evidence leading to his whereabouts, then Hellsing would be getting a call.
A house call.
Heading towards the edges of the village, Anderson said a little prayer. As much as Enrico frustrated him, he wanted him found-preferably alive.
And if Hellsing was involved, he prayed that his would be the hand of retribution.
|End|