A/N: It's me again guys. Sorry for the long wait, I hope I've made it worth it. Enjoy.

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Jake sat with his Master in the back of the armored car. Sir Hellsing had briefed them just minutes before. By the sound of it, a vampire in east London had made a local brothel his feeding ground, and had gotten sloppy about it. There were reports of sultry-looking women attacking random people in the street, behaving like rabid animals. The objective was simple: search and destroy.

For the first time since his last show, Jake felt wired. He tried to look as serious as possible, but the rapid tick of his knee betrayed him. He couldn't resist glancing at the patch on his shoulder. Hellsing. Just like his Master. As ridiculous as it was, he couldn't help feeling the same way he did just before Post Mortem's first performance. This was the chance he had longed for, and now that it was here, he was honestly scared shitless, only this time it wasn't stage fright. Whatever happened, he told himself, he could not screw this up. Ghouls and vampires were the least of his worries. His own worth and the dignity of his Master depended on his performance. Not to mention Sir Hellsing...

Forget the five minutes, thought Jake, I need to make this worth a hundred years.

"Nervous?" asked Seras.

"Huh?" He looked at her with a bit of confusion; was he always so obvious, or did she really know him that well in the space of less than a month?

"You're practically wearing a groove into the floor." She observed plainly.

"Oh." He muttered. It was just the two of them, but even so, he felt the need to act professional, if only to show that he could.

"You'll be fine," She said with a wink. "Just try to keep up with me."

He smiled uncertainly and nodded. He took to staring at the weapons Walter had provided for him: a .45 magnum with a seven-shot magazine, each bullet hollow-point and baptized, and a solid black "Doberman" 8-gauge combat shotgun with a pistol grip, stock, and silver shot. Walter said that they were only to tie him over until he could customize weapons for him. After seeing the weapon that he had made for his Master, Jake was plenty excited about that.

The car screeched to a halt, launching both of them sideways. Reaching for something to hold on to, they both ran into each other, and Jake found himself lying on the floor in, his master atop him, and her face a mere inch from his. They both froze in embarrassment as the double doors opened.

They scrambled apart awkwardly, but not before a surprised whistle was heard from beyond the doors.

"Well, when this van's a-rockin'..." chuckled the driver.

Seras stood up with an annoyed look on her face. "Shut up, Mick," she whispered hoarsely, "Who gave you your bloody license, Mr. Magu?"

"Hey, I wanted to grease the brake before we left, but no one listens to me..."

They stepped carefully out of the armored car, Seras holding her big-bore rifle on her shoulder. Good thing, too; the corridors were far too tight for the large and cumbersome Harkonen cannon. He took the shotgun off the shoulder strap and cocked it once. They had pulled into a narrow back alley leading into the brothel. Even in the cold night air, the smell was already overpowering.

"Where do we start?" he asked, trying to keep his head on the mission.

"Follow me. Mick, 'think you can take care of yourself?"

Mick confidently toted his rifle and quipped: "I'll manage."

Seras guided Jake over to the alleyway door.

"On three..."

Jake nodded. The telepathy took some getting used to, and sometimes he wondered how open the link between them was.But now was not the time to ponder such things.

"One."

He turned sideways.

"Two."

Shifted his weight.

"Three."

And kicked the door to splinters. His new strength; he wasn't used to that yet either.

They swept their weapons on either side of the three-pronged hallway. It was dark, but that hardly mattered. Even in the tarry blackness he could make out the grimy cracks along the walls, see and even hear the roaches scurrying between them, and worse yet, smell the rank stench of stale whorehouse. He was never so appreciative of the fact that he no longer needed to breathe.

A sound; shuffling, moaning. High heels being dragged across the rotting hardwood.

"Here they come." Crooned his master excitedly. Something about the way she said it made the hairs on his neck prickle, but strangely, not out of fear or disgust.

They burst through two nearby doors on the left and center hallways. Shredded dresses, and sometimes nothing at all shoddily covered their corpulent bodies. Sagged and decayed, the parts they once displayed to tempt now only repulsed. Jake aimed the Doberman at the nearest, wearing a blue dress that was torn completely from the waist down. He held the imaginary vomit in his throat, and kept his sight on the head, but his trigger finger wasn't twitching quite hard enough.

"Give them peace, Jake. That's all we can do for them."

Jake swallowed hard and pulled the trigger, not letting himself close his eyes. The silver shot ripped through the first ghoul's chest and peppering the one behind it. He pumped and shot again, through the head of another. Coagulated blood and grey matter painted the side of the wall. It made him cringe, but not at the sight of death; it felt more like seeing curdled milk spill on the floor. One bounded for him, too close to shoot. He turned the shotgun upwards, striking it in the chin. It fell the floor. He didn't have time to commit a shot to it. He fired at another ghoul, and, just as the one on the floor began to move again, he lifted up his boot and crushed its head like rotten cantaloupe. The smell of it filled his nostrils, but what disturbed him was that it didn't disgust him. It made him hungry.

He allowed a quick glance at his Master. She wasn't even using her gun anymore, killing them with her bare hands. She punched one so hard it burst like a tomato dropped from a skyscraper. She was caked in the spoiled blood, reminding him of a child playing in the mud. Jake could feel the power coursing through her, beaming off of her as she dispatched each walking corpse with joyous abandon. He watched hypnotically; the way the blood drizzled on her face, running down her uniform, over her sumptuous curves. His eyes traveled to her bloodied, outstretched hand, as she moved it, drenched in blood, to her mouth, extended her tongue...

The large chunk bitten out of Jake's right arm broke his trance, and Seras whipped around to see him level his magnum to the feasting ghoul's head, and fire.

God dammit! He cursed himself. Stay focused!

"Just where the hell is Alucard?" asked Jake aloud, seeing as subtlety was a now moot point. He was desperate to keep his head on the job, away from these bizarre and horrifyingly tempting places, and mentioning that name was the easiest way.

"Disappointed. He's been ordered to hang back and let us handle it if we can." Seras answered.

So, he thought, blowing away the last ghoul with the magnum, this really is a test

"Your arm..." she said, grabbing it and staring at it like a concerned mother.

"It'll be fine." He said quickly, forcing himself to show no pain. "Where's the prime target?"

"He hasn't buggered off, that's for sure." She said, combing some of the gore out of her hair.

"I trust the girls showed you good time?" said smooth, cadent voice from down the hallway.

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A/N well, I guess I just enjoy being a cruel bastard. The rest will come swiftly, I assure you all, but alas, I was impatient, and didn't want to keep you waiting for too much longer. Until next time kiddies!