Author's Notes: Fixed all the grammar issues and incomplete sentences in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to or make a profit from Hellsing or Repo.
Inside the organ warehouse, the Fuhrer's lieutenants were filming another TV commercial for the Genetic Opera. Since they made at least three commercials a night, and participated in half a dozen public appearances and stage performances (not including the weekly Opera), this wasn't anything new. The night's angle involved a bit of an Italian flair, with director Darren Lynn Bousman filming all three lieutenants dancing and smiling together. The whole thing began with Luke Valentine, dressed in a dandy white suit, getting the ladies and gentlemen's attention with his suave, charming smile.
"Ladies, gentlemen~!" he sang in his baritone, "Signore, signori!"
Jan then sprang out from stage right and shoved him out of the way. "DON'T YOU MUTHER-FUCKING TOUCH YOUR TV!" he sang in his obnoxious tenor.
In downstage center, standing still with a cane, Herr Major sang, "TONIGHT'S GENETIC OPERA IS THE PLACE TO BE!"
In the background, four genterns were doing a twirling dance with giant fans. From the fans emerged Rip Van Winkle, clad in a black bra and panties under a see-through teddy, decked on heels. She strutted toward the camera with her arms open invitingly, singing, "MillenniCo! MillenniCo!"
"FROM THE FUCKING TRANSPLANTS!" Jan shouted.
"To the genterns!" Luke sang.
"BELLISSIMO!" the Major bellowed.
"ICH LIEBE DIE OPERA! MI AMORE-!" Rip sang.
The genterns dropped their fans and began dancing forward with Rip Van Winkle so that they could dance with the three men.
"THE GENETIC OPERA IS THIS EVENING!" the Major bellowed.
"You'll-a-laugh!" the brothers Valentine sang.
"Ha!" Rip said.
"You'll-a-cry!"
"Ho!"
"You'll-a-"
"SIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGG~!" Herr Major bellowed.
By now all the genterns and lieutenants were together front and center, and they sang and danced in unison, all happy and smiling.
"BRAVI, BRAVI, BRAVISSIME!
DIE GENETIC OPERA IST GUT!"
"It's-damna-good!" Jan interjected.
"BRAVI, BRAVI, BRAVISSIME!
DIE GENETIC OPERA IST GUT!"
Then they all rushed toward the cameras with their arms open wide, grinning invitingly.
"Okay folks, that's wrap!" the director yelled.
The bell rang to signal that shooting was over. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, the smiles dropped. Frowning and pouting angrily, everyone started to totter off. One of the genterns started fixing her hair, while another shoved her. The lieutenants were no kinder to each other than the genterns were to each other.
"'It's-damna-good?'" Rip scoffed.
"Hey, I was in mother-fucking character, you Goddamn BITCH! I didn't see you following your god-damned lines, you fucking bitch-ass CUNT!"
"Can't hear you; don't care," Rip said in a sing-song voice as she sauntered away with her valets.
"You will care when I shove my mother-fucking dick in your cunt-shaped FACE!"
While the two younger lieutenants bickered, the Major calmly informed eldest and calmest, Luke, that he needed to take care of some business down town and was leaving him in charge until he came back.
"Of course! Heil Fuhrer," Luke saluted.
The Major was about to comment further, when one of the genterns ran up to Luke and rubbed against him like a cat in heat.
"Oh Luke," she whimpered, "I feel a terrible itch in my panties. You think might be able to scratch that?"
"And me," another nurse said.
"An me!"
"Ladies, ladies, not in front of Durr Fuhrer."
But it was too late. The Fuhrer stormed away without saying anything further, the Dok and the Captain in toe. If there was one thing the Major abhorred, it was female sexuality and the men that partook in it. It was probably because he was the son of an abusive whore who brought clients in all the time . . . even in the living room, while he and his father were home. . . even on the dinner table, while the two were eating… until the day he shot her and one of her clients stone dead. . . then went back to eating desert. He was exposed to so much sexuality, so continuously from such an early age that he became completely immune to it. If anything, killing his mother made him so ecstatic that he could only get his jollies from wanton violence; hence his absolute love of war.
At any rate, he never used to mind when men had their way with women (in fact, when he first joined the military, he let his officers rape the women continuously in his office and it never even distracted him from his paperwork), but many things that never bothered him in the old days were infuriating him now.
Jan had always been violent and vulgar, so there was no love lost there, but watching one of his finest lieutenants delving further into her sexuality and behaving more and more like a cat in perpetual heat was nothing short of tragic. He would almost consider Luke for the position, since he at least pretended to carry himself with a little more dignity than his peers, but for every women Jan took with force, at least ten willingly flocked to Luke and hung on his arms like tacky jewelry. The Major would sooner rip his brain out by the stem than give any of them charge over his life's work, and his precious company. Thankfully, he had another option in mind. . .
Back at the corner house in London, Seras was sprawled on her four-poster coffin. She was dressed in the same red night dress as before, with caped sleeves and a short skirt. With nothing else to do, she drank medical blood out of a plastic bag and watched her favorite channel. There was never anything but Soap Operas and Sit Coms, which was part of why Seras' favorite show was the Genetic Opera. She gasped with delight when her favorite soprano appeared on screen.
"Hi, I'm Lady Hellsing," the woman said.
Lady Integra Hellsing looked as stunning as ever, and sounded far better. Her normally straight blonde hair was now in luscious curls, held up with a bejeweled headband. She was dressed in a flowing green gown with a part on the side of her waist so that her long, smooth, caramel-colored legs could be seen in heels. She danced with two large fans made of peacock feathers. When she opened her mouth to sing, the entire stage lit up.
"At MillenniCo, your treasured memories don't have to fade with time," a recording of her voice continued while Integra herself continued to sing.
Seras held her mirror like a microphone and pretended to sing along with Integra. Watching Sir Integra sing always put her in a good mood; she was as giddy as a school girl.
"Announcing MillenniCo's Corneal Plus: MillenniCo's breakthrough optical technology, where everything is digitally recorded, so you can relive your favorite memories again and again."
Seras smiled euphorically; she could listen to Lady Hellsing's gorgeous voice again and again for eternity. Seras hero-worshipped Lady Hellsing; she always had, ever since she first laid eyes on her. After several months of searing boredom in the basement, Walter calmly brought a television to her room. Seras had never seen or heard of a television before, so she flitted around Walter as a hummingbird flits around a flower. Walter endured her curiosity calmly as he installed, until he casually said: "You know, Seras, installing televisions is much easier when one is given room to do so."
"I'm sorry," Seras had said; but she stood on the tips of her toes and stared at him until he was done.
With the last wire connected, the lit up and a woman with a regal manner and dress appeared. She was so beautiful, elegant, and confident that Seras felt drawn to her immediately. "Walter, who is that?" she had asked.
Walter looked at the screen emotionlessly. "… Perhaps we should change the channel," he said, and reached for the remote control.
"No!" Seras cried, placing her hand on his arm. "Who is that?"
"… That is Lady Hellsing," Walter said at last, "An opera singer."
"Really?" Seras asked, mesmerized by the screen. "What is an opera singer?"
"A person who sings the way she does," he said, gesturing to the screen.
They listened for a while.
"Are you sure you don't know who she is?" Walter asked.
"Why should I?" Seras asked, and then she was lost to the world until the show was over.
Walter had always been rather ambivalent toward Lady Hellsing. While Seras loved the show better than anything else and often gushed about her when Walter came home, he remained cool and disciplined about the subject. In fact, Walter would change the subject whenever he could. Seras didn't understand why Walter didn't like Lady Hellsing or the Genetic Opera. He said it was because Lady Hellsing was a registered vampire, loyal to MillenniCo, and would most likely turn Seras in if they ever met, but Seras couldn't believe anything like that. Lady Hellsing was an honourable woman. Brave, confident and compassionate, she often spoke out for the poor and disenfranchised whenever she advocated for MillenniCo. She was also a renounced philanthropist that donated and sang for many charities. Her working for them must have just been a misunderstanding.
Maybe Lady Hellsing really believed that MillenniCo was a charitable company. Maybe they lied to her about what they were doing. Either way Seras felt sure that Lady Hellsing really cared for the common human and vampire. She felt sure that if Lady Hellsing knew what was going on, she would sympathize with their cause. Maybe she would even use her status as the company voice to try to help them. Maybe she could use her job as a spokeswoman to spy for the rebellion the way Walter used his job as a registered surgeon to spy for them. Seras dreamed of the day she could meet Lady Hellsing.
In the midst of her daydreaming, Seras' teleband (a wristband with a telecommunication device attached) began to beep: "Incoming message." Thinking it was from Walter (no one else ever called her) Seras reached over to her nightstand and answered. A hologram of the Fuhrer's head emerged.
"Seras, you don't know me."
She screamed and dropped it.
"Und I am sure you are very afraid of me," he continued.
Understatement of the century. This was the leader of MillenniCo! A MillenniCop would be one thing, but the leader of MILLENNICO? Seras began to panic. She had hidden from them for so long, how did they find her? How did they know? Did they capture Walter? Where was he? Did they know? Did they capture him? Torture him? Execute him? Were they coming after her next? Should she hide? No, they knew where she lived—wait, did they? Did they already see her? Could she make a break for it? Were they outside? Could she escape in the crypt? How did they get her number? Where were they?
"Und before you panic," he continued soothingly, "I just want you to know that I mean you no harm. "Ja, I know you are an unregistered vampire, living in a seemingly abandoned mansion by a graveyard. Ja, I know you are being hidden by MillenniCo by one of our employees. Und jawol, I know it ist Walter."
Seras gasped.
"Ja, I know that Walter ist a spy of MillenniCo. I haf known it for some time."
Seras let out a strangled whimper.
"However," the Major continued, "I wish to let you know that I haf no problem with that. In fact, I find it rather amusing. We haf received no opposition of such caliber for so long. I find it thrilling to know that someone ist out there who wants my blood."
Seras sighed and collapsed on a chair.
"I can assure you that only the highest of the higher ups in MillenniCo know of his antics, und we haf no intention of ratting him out to our lower security MillenniCops."
Seras groaned and placed her head in her hands.
"Ja, I know it is a lot to take in. However, I did not call you just to tell you that I know you are an illegal."
Completely burned out from this onslaught of news, Seras could only snark.
"Then why did you call?" she mumbled from under her breath.
"Seras, you may not know me, but your master vas once very dear to me."
"Huh?" Seras' head shot up.
"We were once arch rivals, und he gave me the greatest war I haf ever fought. Surely, you haf heard of the Second World War? The War That Lasted One Night? Of course you haf; Walter does not raise fools." He chuckled, "Although I ultimately von the fight, I will always treasure the memory of our glorious battle on that fateful night, und bless that exceptional victory over a such great war."
This man was nuts.
"As such, I owe your master a great debt of gratitude, which I shall bestow unto his child. I would bestow it unto him, but, alas, he ist not here."
"No kidding!" Seras cried, remembering how HE was the reason her master was gone!
"If you could be so kind as to meet me in front of your master's tomb… say… in von hour, we can discuss in person how best to thank you for your master's great service to me."
"I…" Seras stammered, completely taken aback. "I…"
"Unless," the Major continued, his voice queer, "the MillenniCops decide to start searching through empty mansions looking for hide-away vampires."
Was that a threat?
"I will see you in von hour," he concluded, and her wristband beeped off.
Seras stared blankly at it for several minutes. When her brain was finally able to process what just happened, she leaned against the wall and sighed dejectedly. She was going to meet the Major, whom she had been warned for years would capture and kill any unregistered vampires. Whom she had been told hated her master and would inflict an even more gruesome fate onto his ward. Whom now claimed to like her master and wished to thank her instead of killing her. Whom she was going to meet in person in one hour… At this thought, Seras began panicking all over again.
What if he tried to kill her? What would she do? What would she wear?
"GYAH!"
On the other side of the dead city, deep in the massive monolith that bore the MillenniCo logo, MilleniCo employees were making good use of the organs reaped by the Angel of Death. In preparation for the Genetic Opera, hundreds of people were swarming to get their last-minute surgeries the way you or I would pick up our best formal clothes before going to the theatre.
However, not all of MillenniCo appealed to snooty rich people interested only in premium organs reserved only for them. The middle and lower classes coveted the designer organs just as much as the wealthy. Despite their love of fashion, they were more concerned about affordability, so MillenniCo developed a marketing campaign for them as well.
"LUNGS AND LIVER AND BLADDERS AND HEARTS!" the radio blared,
"YOU'LL ALWAYS SAVE A BUNDLE
WHEN YOU BUY OUR MILLENNI-PARTS!
SPLEENS AND INTESTINES AND SPINES AND BRAINS!
ALL AT WAREHOUSE PRICES:
BUT OUR QUALITY'S THE SAME!"
The slutty nurses, called genterns, were diligently calculating their output versus their income deep in the warehouse, where they kept all their organs stocked in refrigerated jars, bags and buckets. Several genterns restocked the shelves; others tested the quality, while others tallied the organs' quality and quantity with clipboards.
While the genterns did their jobs, the heirs apparent to MillenniCo waited impatiently for their Fuhrer to return. Rip Van Winkle impatiently pushed her long hair out her face and tied her silk robe over her lacy black lingerie, while her two valets (tall, muscular, bondage leather-clad eunuchs with sunglasses) stood ever-faithfully by her sides. Jan Valentine passed a nurse with a clipboard his coat and gloves, and Luke Valentine was enjoying the attention of two nurses that were whispering seductive murmurs in his ear.
"Where ist the Major, brothers?" Rip demanded suddenly.
"Why the fuck should I know, sister?" Jan snapped.
"Oooh, I don't know. I thought you would haf an idea since you've been here with me all morning."
"Now listen here, you fucking cunt-face—" Jan began, and then they both said at the same time, "I don't take lip from a slu—"
Rip punched him in the balls, so that he doubled over in pain.
"Cunt," she finished, licked his cheek and sauntered away with her hips swaying.
Jan's eyes widened in horror.
Luke sighed, "If you two are going to be that way, I'd prefer you get a room where you can—"
"LUKIE!" Jan snapped, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Luke frowned.
"You two are so fucking full of it. In case you pussy-ass bitches ain't noticed, I'm the toughest! And the smartest! I will find a hole and fuck it!" And he made very explicit gestures with his hands and hips to show how so. Unfortunately, a nurse pushing a cart full of fresh organs hadn't noticed him. She grabbed a brain, walked right into him and splattered bloody mucus all over his favourite track suit without meaning to.
"If there ain't one," he continued, pulling out a knife, "I will make one." Before she could protest, he stabbed her in the stomach and shoved her into the cart she had been pushing. She grabbed onto it for support but fell over and was impaled with dozens of sharp silver medical instruments on the ground, bleeding.
"I'm the mother-fucking Jan-man! One brain, mark it up!" he grabbed the brain from the bleeding gentern's hand and threw it over to one at Luke's side. She caught it and cheerfully placed it on a nearby scale.
"Only I'VE got brains enough!" Jan continued, "That's why the fatass will leave MillenniCo to me. . . ME ME ME ME!" he then he raped the fallen gentern through the hole he made in her stomach.
Luke wrinkled his face in disgust and looked away. "Oh yes, impressive leadership skills, I don't see why the Fuhrer hasn't promoted you yet."
"Fuck off!" Jan snapped, "You're just jealous that I got more balls than you in the tip of my—"
"Ha!" Luke retorted, "Ask a gentern who they prefer, ten out of nine will say me."
Jan scoffed, stood upright and shrugged away a trembling gentern that offered a new track suit to replace the one that got covered in blood.
"Because, you see," Luke continued, stepping around the swooning girls. "Between the two of us, I don't have to resort to rape or violence to see some pussy."
He flung a few panties into Jan's face, and leaned down to grab an organ from the dying gentern.
"Two hearts; mark it up." He tossed the heart back to a gentern, who caught it and placed it on the scale. "Luke Valentine steals all of the hearts… as well as the respect to keep it up."
"Fuck you, man! You ain't got the balls, brother!" Jan snapped.
"All bark, but no lungs, brother," Luke retorted.
"The Fuhrer will leave MillenniCo to me!" they both exclaimed.
Jan shot at his brother with a machine gun. Luke ducked and slashed at Jan's throat with a bowie knife. Jan dropped the gun, gurgled in his own blood for a moment, and swiped the knife out of Luke's hand. Jan then recovered his voice.
"You wait," they both said, circling each other preditorily. "Time will tell!"
"Luke's face will woo them all-"
"Jan's foot will kick yer ass-!"
"—when I inherit Herr Major's position."
"—when I take the fat one's job!"
"—take the Major's will and mark you out."
"—take the fatass' will and write you out!"
"Take my cut and mark it up!" they said together.
"Mark it up," the genterns said.
"Mark it up!" they all exclaimed.
At five minutes to the hour, Major Montana Max entered his limo to drive to the graveyard. Thinking of it brought back memories of his glorious past. How they had worked ceaselessly for over fifty years to create a great war that they could enjoy to the fullest until the next war, and the next, and the next. It had all gone so smoothly; the infiltration of Hellsing, the isolation of Alucard, the invasion of London, the arrival of Seras Victoria and Integra Hellsing, the reveal of Walter, the confrontation in the zeppelin.
The Major thought they had the perfect war.
Until Schrodinger dragged Seras as well as Alucard. The Major wished to fight to the fullest, to defeat, and to be defeated. As long as Hellsing remained a formidable foe, they could fight to the fullest and die fulfilled. However, with both Alucard and Seras gone, there was no one to stand against them, and the world fell like playing cards before their army. Victory had been too swift, too easy, and too absolute. There were no more wars to fight, no more foes to defeat, and no more worlds to conquer. His own ranks had become corrupted with complacency, and there was no one left to leave his legacy to, except…
"Ashes," he said out loud, "Dust. My admirals were a bust. They shall inherit nothing. Nein, nein… my legacy is too great to throw away on ingrates. Walter C. Dolnez had potential, until he stole that Seras away!"
Walter was a traitor who got what a traitor deserves, but he had carried himself with such a quiet dignity and served so loyally for so many years that the Major had almost considered giving him a position of authority within MillenniCo… Until he learned that Seras, the last enemy he could engage, had not been defeated at all, but merely dehydrated to stay on this side of existence. The Major threatened to destroy her unless Walter continued to serve him forever more, and the punishment fitted nicely until the day her body disappeared. It remained missing for decades, until the day a little grave robber woke a vampire babe. In exchange for her life, Walter had to become an Angel of Death.
"In denial, Walter blamed himself for Seras' sudden resurrection, and never once thought to suspect the man who wrote his checks. I guess I'll take it to my death!" he laughed.
"THINGS YOU SEE IN A GRAVEYARD! THINGS YOU SEE IN A GRAVEYARD!" the radio blared.
The limo pulled up in front of Alucard's tomb. Seras was inside, just having come in through the secret passageway. She was very nervous and kept rubbing her side in worry. Not sure what to expect from the meeting, she wore her prettiest and most comfortable clothes: a dark blue dress with a flippy skirt, thigh-high black leg-warmers with matching gloves, and ankle-high black boots. It was both comfortable and practical, as it would allow her to flee if she needed. Seras wasn't sure if her long black wig was necessary, since they knew who she was, but it gave her a sense of comfort since she had worn it for so long.
When she heard the engine approach, she walked toward the door, but stopped when she heard the Fuhrer talking.
"Alucard, it's Montana Max," he said, "You never should have lost to me. I would have given you the world . . . had you given me a great war that I could haf died. Had you not fed your child your blood, she would have risen above and I . . . well . . . It's been difficult to see you after what you put me through. You forced my hand and made me do . . ."
Seras peeked through the window, only to find that he was staring right at her. She gasped and pressed her back against the wall.
"Well . . ." the Fuhrer said again. "It seems the man who doomed the globe cannot engage in one last battle; but I can go out with a bang!"
The Captain marched up to the door, turned on his heel, and kicked it open from behind. It thundered open with a loud BANG! He then threw a holy hand grenade over his shoulder. It landed into the tomb, where it released compressed steam made from holy water. Seras screamed silently and clutched her red blistering skin, but years of hiding from authorities kept her from being smoked out.
"I can go out with a bang. . ." the Fuhrer said again, as he walked back toward the limo.
The Captain marched calmly into the tomb, where Seras continued to cough and clutch at her skin. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the door. "No! No!" Seras cried, "Please! I can't be outside! I can't go outside! I can't-!"
The Captain pushed Seras into the limo, where she fell silent. The Fuhrer of MillenniCo, Major Montana Max, sat straight in front of her. On the left side of her sat the Doktor, the lead surgeon that first invented the synthetic vampires and organs that MillenniCo operated with. He was much taller and ganglier than she imagined. Climbing in from her right was… a very huge, stoic, muscled man. His eyes were hellfire and his grip was like iron. With the Dok and the Captain sitting on either side of her—both so tall and indomitable—Seras felt like a weak, crippled child. She did feel very weak . . . then, panicking, she began fumbling for her medicine.
"Ah! Seras Victoria, danke for coming," the major said grandly, ignoring her distress. "It's nice to see young talent blooming."
Unable to open the cap in her panick, the Doktor took the bottle from her, opened it effortlessly and handed her a pill. The Captain offered a medical blood bag, which she snatched up and tore up with her little fangs. She then guzzled both pill and blood down as best she could. She could vaguely feel the blood dripping through her chin and lap, where it soaked the seat, and with great difficulty she swallowed the pill that would make her whole. When she felt the familiar tingle of solidifying flesh, she sighed with relief. That had been a close one—too close.
"My admirals have been . . . well, disappointing," the Major continued, as though nothing had happened. "I am Major Montana Max."
"I know," Seras said; her fear renewed.
"I run MillenniCo."
"Please let me go."
"Sorry to be so difficult," he continued pleasantly, "But I had no choice. You're a tough one to find. Climbing through holes, and ducking in little tombs. Tell me, why do you hide—"
"I'm not—"
"Your pretty face?" he asked.
Was this a trick question? "I cannot be outside," Seras said. "I'm . . . not a legal vampire."
Is that what he wanted her to say?
"Oh?" the Major said, "And why are you not a legal Vampire?"
"B-because. . ." she faltered, "Because you hated my master?"
"Is that all?" the Major cried, "Not at all! Was that so? Well, not any longer."
"I—"
"It's all passé. Water under the bridge. I bear him no ill will; and you even less."
"But—"
"Und I cannot help but notice how pale you appear? How ashen faced?"
"I. . ." she cleared her throat, "I cannot tell you why. I . . . have a blood disease."
The Fuhrer only smiled again, and winked his eye. "But there is hope, an antidote, made by our very greatest Doktor right here."
"You flatter me, Mein Fuhrer," the Doktor said.
"I do," he then turned to Seras, "Und you can be the first to sample it: The Doktor's cure to Vampire blood diseases. Und I could use someone like you, the poster child of progress! It's the cure you sought, Seras. Your chance to see the world, Seras. In your grasp!"
It was all too overwhelming. "I—I don't—"
"A function awaits," he said, "Will you be my date?"
EW! Seras thought, "Um, I—I can't…"
"Lady Hellsing will be there."
"Hellsing?!" Seras cried.
"Indeed," the Major grinned, "You two should meet."
Despite how badly she wanted to meet her idol, Seras felt trapped and scared with the Major. "No… I must leave" she said, trying to think of an excuse. "My butler will worry."
The Major only smiled at her knowingly. "Who says your butler needs to know everything?"
Seras' stomach dropped. Her large blue eyes were wide with fear. She had a very bad feeling, but they cut through all of her excuses. With two very tall and very scary looking men on either side of her, the Fuhrer in front of them, and all four in a locked and moving limo, she had no choice but to say yes and hope for the best.