Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing. Kouta Hirano does.

Author's Note/ WARNING: Integra Hellsing was never captured by Millenium. This is slightly AU. If you are under 18, or do not wish to view explicit material, read no further. Warning for detailed torture description, sexual themes and foul language. Read at your own risk.

Can a dark, filthy dungeon be charming? But look how the mold on the walls forms those exquisite patterns, the shapes the wetness has formed on the ceiling. Feel the light offered generously by a small lamp, noticw hot the filth on its glass spreads beautiful shades on the iron bed with the rusty chains.

I got to learn well most of those dungeons in Europe when that blessed war started, about fifty years ago. Back to those days, in England I was known as Dr. Adler, in Eastern Europe as Dr. Pavlov, in Southern Europe as Dr. Baresi.

All those people are me.
But I'm simply The Doc.
And I'm an expert in the art of torturing.

However, I don't use complex and sophisticated devices, I don't open huge bags to take out impressive shiny instruments and sharp objects, just to spread them on the table just some old woman from Naples lighting candles in San Gennaro. I only use my bare hands, and an object in the possession of the person I am to torture.

Many years ago, someone had told me that my hands could make a rock sing like Marlene Deitrich. Flattering people was one of his hobbies, though, so I didn't pay much attention.

Tonight I don't have to work. I could simply sit alone and listen to some of my favorite music, remembering the wonderful moments of violence the human race has offered me during my lifetime.

But tonight is different.

The Major himself asked me personally to totrure her. And she is no other but the infamous Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. Quite a legend, I must say. Master of Alucard, one of the strongest people in England, vampire exterminator.
And only twenty-three years old.
Now, that's really something.

I know every detail of her life. I know very well the reason for which she must suffer in my hands. But I have to be a professional.

She is a conscientious professional herself.
I haven't killed as many people as she has. That makes me superior. Killing with Integra Hellsing's way is not elegant.

Millenium was lucky to capture her. And who else was to torture her but me? Some inexperienced youngster who wouldn't concentrate on his job, because of the arousal caused by the tears of her pain? Or some sloppy, predictable poor old woman with her disgusting rusty grapnels?

Nein, nein. The Major honors me by choosing simplicity and elegance.
He chooses ME.

Schrodinger escorts me to the dungeon where she's being kept. As we walk in the narrow corridor, I feel impatience and excitement. How I long to meet this woman in person! I try to imagine what she looks like from close, this femme fatale, this international threat for socially accepted female roles.

And here we are.

In her cell.

Her hands are cuffed and they've hanged her from the ceiling. Only her toes touch the floor. Listen, something's dripping from the ceiling and it has formed a small pool on the cold stone floor.
Sir Hellsing is blindfolded.
And naked. Her clothes are neatly placed on an old wooden chair.

She's tall, slender and very, very fragile. She has long, blond hair that cascades onto her chest, hiding her left nipple. Her ribs stretch her skin when she inhales. I can almost hear her fast heartbeat and feel her agony. Walking around her, I admire her flawless, alabaster skin. They haven't done anything to her yet. They left all the dirty job for me.

She's only in her early twenties...

Such a brave little fraulein.

I have taken her suit jacket in my hands, and fumbling inside the pockets, I find an expensive silver lighter. The letters I.H. are carved on it.
On a small table, there's a glass of water and a bottle of wine.

"Good evening, Sir Hellsing. Ich bin the Doc. Glad to meet you, even under these circumstances."

I lift my arm and I slap with my entire palm the front of her left thigh. She jerks and drowns her pain in two small breaths.

"Everything's over, lovely fraulein."

I place my palm on her chest. Her sweat is warm.

"So, you're the Doc. Still wearing that ridiculous outfit, you git?"

I slap her again, exactly on the same spot. A small scream of pain escapes her lips.

"Watch your language, Sir Hellsing."

I feel almost sad for having to abuse this beauty.

"Do you want some water, fraulein?"

I bring to her lips the glass that they left for me. She gulps it thirstily. I pull the glass away and she whispers "just a little bit more...".

I slap her hardly on the face and her nose starts bleeding. Instead of water, I let her taste her own blood.
She says nothing.
Now I hit her four times in a row exactly on the same spot, high on her thigh, near her pelvis. She clenches her teeth, shocked by the amount of pain traveling from her thigh to her heart and her head.

My hand repeats the routine, her skin is full of bright pink lines and she's trying in vain to avoid my palm. Blind and helpless, it's impossible for her to escape the pain I'm giving her.

"Bastard..." she hisses.

Again, I hit her left thigh with my nails, flicking my wrist, with my entire palm, with my silver ring, with my fingertips.

"Language!"

Her body starts panicking now, as her thigh grows more and more sensitive and close to bleeding. My fingers are a bit numb now, my arm feels heavy and tired. But I don't stop.
I hit her again and again, with all my strength, with all my hate.
As I lick the drops of sweat forming on her chest, she starts insulting me again, only to make me start hitting her again.

From the door, little Schrodinger is watching in a state of shock.

I stop for a while. I fill the glass with wine. Its taste is a delight to my dry throat and its smell covers the stench of the humidity that lingers upon us like a cloud.

I start playing with her lighter. The flame is big and almost blue. I move it closer to her face.

"Integra, did I lighten your darkness? Can you sense any difference in the light behind your blindfold?"

She bows her head and her chin touches her chest. Accidentally, I burn a strand of her hair, and it gives off a sweet burnt smell.

"This is your lighter. It's so elegant. I let it burn and warm up a bit. If you DARE to insult me again, I promise you that I'll place it somewhere on your body and press it upon you, so that it will cause a nasty burn, destroying your skin and your flesh under it. If you do not behave even after this, I'm going to warm it up once more and place it HERE-"
I say, touching the small opening of her vagina. Her lower lips are soft like velvet, warm, but completely dry and tight.

I slap her on the face, hitting her front and then, her eye. It hurts so much that she can't breathe, she coughs.
The burning tip of the lighter is dipped in her armpit. She screams loudly with pain and agony, a scream you think has no end. But even when she runs out of air and has no more voice, the expression on her face remains the same: her cheeks stretched, her mouth so widely open that I think the edges of the lips will be torn. She remains like this for some seconds, a living statue of horror. She finds her breath and screams again, crying.

I move the lighter close to her face once more. "Your lighter makes a very nice sound when I light it. It's wonderful, Integra. It even has the initials I.H. carved on it!"

"MOTHERFUCKER."
I almost can't recognise her voice. She shounds like a lion roaring.

That pisses me off. I place my hand between her butt cheeks and I find her tight asshole. She tries to keep her legs closed enough to stop me, she moans. It's futile. I push violently my index finger inside her hole, while i dig the nails of my other fingers in the soft, warm flesh between her ass and her pussy.

Ha ha. The bitch is really furious. She growls like a lion and tears are dripping down her face.

I push her belly as I'm trying to hold her steady as I push my middle finger inside her ass. Her tears are soaking her blindfold. She screams and coughs.

I take my fingers off her ass, and it hurts her the same if not more. Her scream echoes on the walls.

I'm sweating.I fill myself another glass of wine as I watch her mumbling insults in a state of frenzy.

"Ideals. Beliefs. Faith. Devotion. The lives of others being more important than yours. You're such a wonderful woman, Integra Hellsing. That bastard Alucard is very lucky..."

"The lord is my shepherd, I'll not want, he makes me down to lie in pastures green; he leadeth me the quiet waters by..."

"How do you feel that your loyal servant isn't here to help you now?"

"Though I walk in death's dark vale, yet I will fear no ill; for thou art with me and thy rod and staff comfort me still..."

"If only he could see you now!"

"Goodness and mercy all my life shall surely follow me; And in God's house for ever more my dwelling place shall be..."

"Even your god cannot help you, Hellsing."

I approach her again and I speak close to her lips.

"If only you could understand the beauty of your suffering..."

She lifts her head. She is pale and exhausted. She spits on my face with hatred. Blood and saliva hit my front and my eyes.

The last man who dared to do this was a prisoner during the second WW. I had him tied on a bed and I pushed his tongue with my fingers so that it would block the opening of his breathing system. I held my hand deeply in his mouth till he suffocated. That was so gross of me.

Now I will not make the same mistake.

My punch breaks two of her ribs. When you know how to do it, there is nothing more satisfactory than tha feeling of a bone breaking with a strike. She faints.

First aid time.

I dig my nails on her skin and scratch her face as deeply as I can. I pour some of the wine on the fresh wounds. She wakes up with a loud breath. She needs some seconds before feeling again the pain that fills her. Every breath hurts. She aches.

With two fingers I press lightly her broken ribs. A deep, husky sound comes out of her mouth, somebody else's voice. She writhes, and shakes her head without breathing. This move means that she simply can take no more pain. Almost like saying "let me find my breath, and even if it's my last one, I'll tell you to go and fuck yourself".

I'm waiting.

A small whisper escapes her dry lips.

"Burn in hell..."

Very well done, Doc. I stand before her. Her body is hanging loosely. She could be unconscious, but with every breath she lets out a deep moan of suffering.

I release her from the cuffs that keep her bound and I lay her on the filthy iron bed. I take a syringe from the pocket of my labcoat and give her a morphine injection.

Bowing, I whisper softly in her ear.

"Everything's over, beautiful Integra. I hope we meet again someday, my lovely fraulein."

She's lost consciousness long before I finish my farewell speech.

I masturbate beside her quickly and I ejaculate on her belly. I spread my semen onto her breasts and her broken ribs.

I walk towards the exit. Schrodinger is whimpering and shivering. I hear him sobbing as I cross the corridor.