Screws were turned and nails were hammered while other workmen installed light fixtures high above the floor in the ORSAP headquarters building. The front desk was perfectly installed and there were people working there, directing operatives around the building whenever they got lost amongst the tarps and construction materials. Several departments were rather firmly in place, chiefly combat, the beginnings of a vehicle dispatch, IT, and people to handle the payroll. Militias did not work if they weren't being paid and that was who was making up the majority of ORSAP's forces at that moment. People with honeybees on their uniforms and other logos were abundant as they made their way to their respective assignments.

The ORSAP building was large, with training ranges offsite, so that the group could be easily accessed in Paris. The massive building was old, with ornate finishings on the outside, and was once nearly turned into a hotel, and then an office building, but whenever someone tried to convert it, the money always ran out. That wasn't the case this time, however, or else the next owner might have some questions about there being an indoor gunrange inside. Renovations and organisation was difficult, since their leaders were still abroad, but following orders based on the recommendations of HELLSING, the group was starting to gain traction and take care of business, just as they should. There was still not a lot in the way of supernatural relations, but that was just as well, according to some. Others, were not so enthused about it, but that was most likely because those particular agents were supernaturals themselves.

"She's very talented!" politely stated Mister Damien Chaput, ORSAP's resident warlock as he watched a young girl dance in a tutu on his coworker's phone.

"You don't have to be nice." replied the woman next to him, moving the device away so it was out of his view again. She stood there, watching the recording of her daughter's ballet recital a moment longer before slipping her phone into one of the many pockets on her person. "She's no professional, but she's having fun, so that's what matters."

Miss Annie Perrott was a tall woman, dressed in all black with boots, pouches, and a gun on her hip like everyone else. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, out of her face so that she could do her work, yet she also wore a full face of makeup to do her job. Her eyebrows were drawn on and her lipstick was bright red, but she swore up and down that it was waterproof. A few people picked on her for it, but Damien wasn't going to. She could have her fun. It wasn't easy, being a vampire in Paris at the time, especially when she had a young, and very much human daughter to raise on her own.

She was never eager to be called out on a mission, but none of them ever were. It was a job, and not a great one at that, but it paid extremely well and kept them safe from other agents of ORSAP, at least. One could wind up retiring rather quickly if one was frugal with their earnings, so it wasn't all bad, they supposed.

"I got called out on a really awful one the other night." Annie sighed. "Woman starved herself until she accidentally ate her baby. Both of them had to be put down. I'm not quite over it yet, I guess..."

"That's rough. Hugo's still bummed because Mister Stark killed one of his old friends from the catacombs." Damien informed, pointing off in the general direction of Hugo's room.

"Poor thing… I hope he's doing alright… Has anyone gone to check on him?"

"I went earlier. He's trying to see the bright side of things, but he's struggling with it a bit. Beginning of the week and already, nobody's gotten through it unscathed… Well, except maybe Pierre, but he's, y'know, Pierre."

"Psh, Pierre can keel over for all I care." the woman scoffed. "It would serve him right."

"Did you fight again?"

"'Fight,' no… I wish I could get away with fighting him, sometimes. He needs a good punch to the face." Annie turned to the young man and waved her hands around wildly. "He found out what I used to do before this gig, so his gross comments have increased! I can't wait until the day he tries something with a woman with less patience than me."

"Ugh… Yeah… He's like that..."

"We have to watch him like a hawk and it's so frustrating! For some reason, a grown man can't be expected to control himself, but women have to be expected to grin and bear it. What's worse, I think he might be saying things to that English girl, too, but I can't prove it since I don't speak the language..."

"I can listen in a little more carefully, if you want."

"Would you? I'm worried about her. I mean, she's weird, but she's so young..."

Damien laughed at that. "You're such a mom, Annie."

"I am! Don't get me started after you, too, Damien Chaput… What's with that makeup on your eyes?"

"It's magical..."

"Is that a euphemism or something?"

"No, it's for magical purposes!"

The pair playfully bickered while they waited for their next assignment. Inevitably, the time for them to leave came, but they would not be led by Johnathan. No, his relationship with poor Hugo was a bit strained since their mission together in the catacombs, but more importantly, the demon had other plans. They involved sitting alone in his apartment and waiting, much to his lamentation.

Truly, it seemed that much of his life upon arriving in Paris had been waiting. It wasn't nearly the same as when he was traveling the globe in search of allies. He had taken remnants of the attack on Buckingham Palace and traveled the coasts of Norway, Finland, and Sweden in search of potential elf or troll settlements that might still have loyalties to the Scarlet Order and wish to seek revenge on HELLSING for the death of Preston Omid, but there weren't any takers. The elves brushed him off and the most he got out of the trolls was one of them wanting to turn him into stew in Norway.

Ultimately, he avoided places with antifreak measures that might harm him. The Scandinavian nations were gaining progress in the field every day, so he had to be cautious while there. Yet, at the same time, he was attracted to areas where human conflict was abundant. It was harder to find than he thought it would be, but eventually, he found what he was looking for! He made his way through Asia, heading southeast, before finally coming across the small island of Namara, where he was pleased to find himself in the middle of a nasty civil war.

The government there had hired some mercenaries from the United States to hunt down any rebels that were hiding in the jungle. That is how Johnathan had met Honeycutt and his men and the rest is simply history. All this time, he had been plotting and killing, plotting and killing, but now, it was time to wait—wait on a stupid meeting. He hadn't realised that downtime like this could feel so empty. Ordinarily, this would mean that it was time to move on, but he had things to do.

But for now, the demon sat there, in his apartment, staring into space. The place had not one single decoration throughout its rooms, instead containing only that which was what was "essential." There was a table and chair in the kitchen, along with basic appliances—refrigerator, microwave, dishwasher, and an oven—all completely unused despite the demon having lived there for a while. He simply didn't have the drive to cook, nor did his tastebuds particularly crave a meal. In his livingroom, there was a sofa, a coffeetable, and a lamp. The most interesting, but "normal" thing in that room was the bookshelf haphhazardly placed against one of the walls, as its contents gave some semblance of a personality. The only books that were on it were related to war and combat, but it was something, at least. There were a few guns mounted on the wall and a shelf with bullets and various weapon-related accouterments. In one room, there was a desk, a lamp, a chair, and a computer, but nothing else. Plain towels were in the bathroom and in the bedroom was a bed and a nightstand, both of which went completely unused, as the demon simply had no desire to sleep. He didn't want for anything, it seemed. Day in and day out, he sat, went to work, and returned to sit again. How dull. What a boring life, he led.

Yet, there was one thing that gave him drive—one thing that he felt attached to and yearned for. Lord Ciel Phantomhive was the object of his desire and he longed for the day where he would get to face him in combat again. They parted so horribly, last time, with Ciel heartlessly shooting Johnathan in the back of the head. The memory burned him up inside, as he recalled how beautifully the man dealt the killing blow. There was no hesitation. There was no warning. There was barely any emotion at all. It was simply monsterous. The beauty of it impressed Johnathan to no end and yet, being tossed aside in such a way angered him. How dare Ciel treat him so coldly?! How dare he toss him aside as if he were nothing to him?! Was he nothing to him? Johnathan hoped not. If he was, that simply wouldn't do and it would simply be a disappointment! After all of that hard work Johnathan put into making Ciel angry, was it simply all for nothing?

Johnathan did not get the reaction he was hoping for. He wanted the Watchdog to be enraged. He wanted to see fire in his eyes and venom oozing from his pores. He wanted him to roar as loudly as he could from deep within his chest and to advance toward him with malice in his heart and bloody vengeance on his mind. He wanted to see the legendary fire within the Watchdog that reduced everything in his path to ash. Yet, what he received was cold. He didn't want cold. Ciel had other things on his mind at that moment—things that did not involve Johnathan and that was simply the cruelest thing he could have done, rendering him into a poor, dejected, one-sided rival.

Standing up, he walked over to his bizarre wall of weapons and took one down. It was a unique piece that no one else in the world possessed apart from himself, that he knew of- except, of course, Ciel. The pistol in his hands was cold as he had gone without being used in quite some time. If it broke, Johnathan would simply be heartbroken. This was one of the strange guns with a bayonet on the end that he had fought Ciel with. In fact, Ciel killed him with the other half of the set. The Romulus and Remus twin pistols were passed down to Johnathan from his mentor and adoptive father-figure, Heinrich Strumer, strangely named after the founder of Rome and his brother. How appropriate that they shared the twin weapons and how appropriate that he was in possession of Remus. Ciel, on the other hand, had kept Romulus as a keepsake, he was sure of it! At first, he thought he might miss its other half, but it strangely brought him comfort that it was gone. No matter where in the world he went, no matter what he was to Ciel, Ciel still had a part of him in his possession.

The thought delighted him, making him feel a bit hopeful. Yet, there was still more for him to do until they met again. Placing the weapon back, he looked at the watch on his wrist before walking into his bizarrely barren and black and white office. There, he pulled out his chair, sat down, and then meticulously opened up his laptop. He started it up, opened up the program he needed, and then waited, staring at his watch. The seconds ticked by one by one as Johnathan's free hand hovered over the button on his computer. Then, at the exact moment that he had planned, he hit the "call" button and waited for Minister Eugenie Munier to respond. It annoyed him that she did not respond immediately, but he knew that he could only expect so much from humans.

Then, the screen wavered for a moment before he saw the woman inside of her hotel room. Johnathan's eyes immediately darted around, checking the area behind her before actually paying attention to her. Miss Munier was dressed officially, still in her clothes from the various meetings and seminars she had attended that day. He smiled pleasantly at her and tried not to be overly aggressive about it.

"Hello, Minister Munier. How are you, today?" he asked, staying pleasant, but the woman didn't match his enthusiasm.

"Hello, Mister Stark." she said while trying not to sigh. "I'm fine. Tired, but otherwise alright."

"Meetings, again?" he asked.

"Lots of them. All good and useful information, of course, but still difficult to sit through one after another." Eugenie sat up straight and collected herself, folding her hands in front of herself and leaning forward. "So, how are things back home?"

"Everything is moving steadily with what we have. Things will most likely improve once we have the systems you discussed in place. For now, though, differentiating 'hostile' and 'non-hostile' supernaturals is difficult, in particular, with vampires."

"That is to be expected, I'm afraid." Reaching down to the floor, she picked up her purse and put it in her lap, rummaging around in it for a pack of cigarettes. As she placed it between her lips and lit it, she continued. "How is the facility?"

"Getting there. It isn't at it's full potential, just yet, but it's functional. More staff in non-combative fields would be preferable above most other things. As for combative personnel, they have been successful in their missions thus far and are relatively easy to train, given their prior experience."

"Good… Good… I'm glad things are going well. It must be a nightmare managing the place."

"Mister Honeycutt is doing alri-"

"I know it's you doing it." the woman interrupted, causing the demon's expression to falter. He frowned, not liking that he didn't know what to expect from her. "Honeycutt can run a militia. Well, barely, anyway. I looked into his track-record. It seems as though the credit for leading the men and keeping them organised went to a former American Navy SEAL that he had hired. He was killed in combat about a year ago. Since then, Honeycutt's been struggling financially, as he struggled to make any headway in the battles he participated in since then… Until Namara, that is. That's where he met you, isn't that right Mister Stark? You're keeping in his good graces, aren't you?"

Johnathan stared at the woman momentarily, calculating his next move. She was thorough. Of course, it was only natural that she should be, given her line of work. War is best waged if everything runs as a well-oiled machine. Admittedly, the demon did find it odd that ORSAP had been making the amount of headway it was in such a short amount of time. Perhaps the three ministers weren't as clueless about the situation as he initially thought. They may have needed help, initially, but they learned fast and thought quickly on their feet. Johnathan needed to be the same way.

"You caught me red-handed." the demon replied, putting his hands up in the air. "How scary! I guess I should've counted on you looking into things! The fact of the matter is: he's the one with the money, and being on his good side is how I stay in a position where I can keep things moving, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it a bit of a secret."

"Even you can make mistakes, it seems. What I wonder, though, is what exactly does Mister Honeycutt do, then?"

"Not very much, if I'm honest. Truth be told, it would be much cheaper to just buy the company outright. It would go against the idea of training an elite force from the good boys and girls in uniform that France enlists fair and square, but it would be a cheaper alternative than allowing Honeycutt to set whatever price he wants."

"And then you would be in charge outright, correct?"

"As a side effect, perhaps, unless you see fit to station me in a different position."

Eugenie Munier leaned forward, folding her fingers together and resting her chin on her knuckles. She narrowed her eyes at the suspicious man before her, trying to work out what his game was. Even after all of her research, she could not find one shred of information about him. It was as though he just showed up out of nowhere on the island of Namara one day. She assumed that "Emil Stark" was an alias, as a result, but couldn't figure out his real one. She even doubted that he was even human, but that could have been chalked up by the suspicion caused by the realisation that supernatural beings are indeed anywhere and could be anyone. It could also be the fact that once he showed up, the Honeycutt militia was able to pull through a job that almost cost them everything, seemingly all on his own. It was as though he, himself, was a military force to be reckoned with all on his own. If that were indeed the case, Johnathan would be an invaluable asset to ORSAP. Yet, because of the dubious nature of his intentions, she was somewhat hesitant to trust him.

"What makes you think that Mister Honeycutt will sell his private army?" the woman questioned. "He has a very nice racket drummed up, here, with us paying him seemingly indefinitely. Why would he sell it and make short term money instead?"

"Well, I know this may come as a shock to you, but Mister Honeycutt isn't very bright..." Johnathan playfully whispered. "If you really want to buy the company, I can probably do some convincing on your behalf, if you want. I'm sure I can talk him into it."

"Let me discuss it with the other ministers before I give you a definite answer on that. I'm sure they'll agree, but that is the way things operate around here."

"Of course. I didn't expect you to have a plan right away. My loyalty is to ORSAP before Honeycutt, Missus Munier. No matter what the ministers decide, I will be right beside all of you."

"It's just 'Miss,' thank you."

"Pardon. 'Miss' Munier." Johnathan smiled. "Is there anything else you want to know while I'm here?"

"No. That will be all for today." Eugenie replied, shifting from her seat somewhat.

"Until next time, then." the demon stated. "Goodnight, Miss Munier."

Johnathan ended the call and shut his computer, leaning back and letting out a sigh. One step at a time, he was getting closer. His patience was being tested every day as he resisted the urge to barrel himself forward and cause a ruckus. He needed to control the destruction if he was going to acquire his desired results. Standing up, he smiled to himself at the thought. He left the room and grabbed his jacket before leaving the apartment entirely, locking the door behind him as he went.

He lived on-site, you see, unlike his coworkers. It was one of the perks of his position. Thus, his destination was only a hop, skip, and a jump away. The ORSAP weapons department was a bit bare bones, as it was in its early stages, but they had all of their necessary wares. Mostly, the guns were rather cheap, as they were purchased on a militia budget, but the government had given them more standard-issue army weapons as well. Some lucky operatives got to be current in their tools, but Johnathan? His were more cutting edge and they were ready for him to pick up.

He walked through the mob of soldiers, mercenaries, and staff, rudely nudging them with his shoulders and staring them down if they attempted to nudge him. He walked past the lines that the personnel gravitated toward in order to pick up their weapons, all the way up to a part of the counter that was suspiciously vacant. Sometimes, a few people who thought they were clever would try to walk up to the old man behind the counter there and demand their orders, only to be turned away and told to get back in the proper line. Not Johnathan, though. The old man blinked, peering out at the demon from behind thick glasses before setting down his paper and getting up out of his chair. Johnathan stopped in front of him and the two stood there in silence broken by the murmuring of those around them.

The old man cleared his throat. With a roll of his eyes, Johnathan placed his hands flat on the counter in front of him. Once the old man was satisfied, he grunted and bent down, disappearing behind the barrier between them.

"I take it you're looking to pick up your order?" he asked as he rummaged around.

"That's why I'm here." said the demon. "I'm surprised that you have it. You're very fast."

"Well, it would've been faster, but some of the parts needed to be made custom. In fact, a lot of them needed to be." muttered the old man, grunting again as he lifted a heavy, metal, case off of the ground and onto the counter. He paused to catch his breath. "It was a fun exercise, though. It was nice, not having to take human strength into consideration."

"I can take whatever recoil you have." Johnathan replied as the man turned the case around. Then, Johnathan placed his thumbs on the latches and opened it. A smile crawled across his face at the sight.

An unusual pair of twin guns sat inside. They were massive and chrome. On the ends were their strangest, yet most distinguishing feature—a feature that only Johnathan himself used, as far as he knew. There were knives acting as bayonets on the end of the heavy pistols, appearing menacing as they were a bit gaudy. He picked up one of the weapons and held it firmly, gauging how it might feel in use.

"It's heavy." he said. "That shouldn't be a problem, though. It seems perfect, as far as I can tell."

"I sure hope it is." the old man behind the counter replied. "It would be a shame if the first custom ORSAP weapon was a failure. That, and I'm afraid of the consequences..."

"Then I would make them again. Better." Johnathan casually stated, still admiring his weapon. "What calibur is it?"

"It will shoot 50 magnum bullets, both regular and anti-freak, of course. Any higher, and we might need to start completely from scratch."

"Well, it's only the first, isn't it? I'm sure you'll do better next time."

"You're displeased?"

"No, but there's always room in the future."

Placing the gun back in its case, Johnathan closed it before holding onto it by its handle. With the case securely at his side, he bidded the old man at the counter farewell. This was satisfactory. While Johnathan was a demon of few hobbies and interests, he had a keen eye for instruments of death and knew exactly what he liked and disliked. More than anything, however, so long as it could kill or maim a demon, he was happy. His heart yearned for close-quarters combat with the object of his amourous hatred, so no long-distance weaponry would do. He wanted to be up close and personal with the Phantomhive, but perhaps that was a weakness of his. He understood this, however, and replayed the fight in which the man slayed him over and over again in his head, finding things that he could do differently each time. After all of his calculations, he hoped that his enemy would be overwhelmed by him, but first thing's first: he had to get Ciel's attention. Luckily for Johnathan, he had his ways.

For now, however, he returned to his room, passing operatives rushing to their next assignments, whether it be mercenaries running to the next supernatural threat to dispatch, or IT walking quickly toward the annoying office of someone who forgot to turn on their computer monitor. Even children at the base had their assignments, so long as they stayed out of sight when anyone important came by. Once home, however, he mechanically carried out his own tasks as well, starting from walking toward the refrigerator.

Opening the door on top and peering into the ice-coated freezer, the demon selected a dubious-looking microwavable dinner before shutting the door again. Taking it in hand, he turned on his heel and returned to the front room, setting the box on the coffeetable in front of the sofa before sitting down. Upon opening the box, however, he didn't find a frozen dinner at all, but this did not surprise him in the slightest. Removing the box's contents, the demon set the container to the side before thumbing through the small, Namarian language book that now sat on his table. He had time to kill before his next call, so he thought it may be wise to make the attempt, despite how little the subject actually interested him. It was all necessary. It was all a part of the plan. Truly, Ciel should be flattered that he is going through such trouble for him. If the Phantomhive wasn't, however, Johnathan had no idea as to what he would do.

A/N: Greetings, n'er-do-wells... I'm sorry that this is so late. School's started, so I've been messing with that nonsense this week, but more devastatingly, when I was just about done, I opened the file again to find that several pages didn't save. I was horrified and did not write for a few days after that... So, originally, this chapter was a bit longer, but I hope it's just as good!

Johnathan is... confusing. He's the thing I have the most notes about in this arc. By now, I understand what's in his head, but I'm still learning how exactly to have him interact with other things and people in the world based on that information. I'm still getting the hang of it, so bear with me!

Progress with this arc is slow, but that's how it's been going lately with some of them! How many did the Abhartach storyline span? Many... I dunno how long this one is going to wind up. I'm hoping to get to the good stuff soon, but I know I'm going to need a bit more build-up!

Also! You may have seen this on tumblr, if you follow me there, but lately I've been thinking about doing this kinda side thing(?) where I just post random documents from around the DLTD universe? Problem is, I have no idea how to categorise it! And I also would have to draw a cover and I have no ideas...

I have a few files written already. They're very short (some of them are only a hundred something words), so they might not be that interesting, but I find them fun. Most of them are random case files from HELLSING, some e-mails, and a few letters. I'm hoping to write some excerpts from supernatural books, too! Let me know if that's something y'all would be interested in!

Ah, that's all I have to say for now, I think... I say that, but then I'll post it and go "wait, I forgot THIS!" That's always how it is lmao

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!