7:05pm, Indochina Time. Roanapur, Thailand.

It was a particularly humid evening when Wang Lei got the call. At first, he couldn't understand what was being said. All he heard were screams.

"Who the fuck is this?" he hissed, wiping his forehead. More screaming. Men and women.

Wang pulled his zipper up and held down the flusher. It always stuck. "If this is some little shit pulling a prank, I'm going to-"

"Demons! Monsters! At the Orchid! Send-"

More screams, followed by wet noises; squishing, crunching, splattering. A bird's ear to a butcher shop. Moments later, the line went dead.

Wang Lei stood there for a moment. He recognized that voice. It was Li Zhao, a 49'r who worked at the Red Orchid brothel, over on Willow street. Li and Wang hated each other; they had for several years. Li was a lazy, arrogant blowhard, who was desperate to move up the chain in Mr. Chang's branch of the Sun Yee On. To Wang's eternal delight, Li's desperation was so fucking obvious that Mr. Chang kept him on a short leash. He was stuck working at one of their cathouses until the idiot learned his place.

Meanwhile, Wang was the loyal soldier. A dedicated and (he liked to believe) principled servant of Mr. Chang's for nearly a decade, Wang was content with his position, but always willing to climb higher should his dai lo award him with such an honor. At the moment, he ran one of the triad's numerous front businesses, a nightclub called Dancing Tiger. It was a fine job and Wang had no real complaints, aside from the fact that it was tedious as hell and the air conditioning kept breaking.

Point being, Li would never call Wang if he could possibly help it. What had brought this on? Who was screaming? What were those...disgusting noises? What the hell was happening at the Orchid?!

He was going to find out. Wang called two of his subordinates, Jiang and Xi, and told them to meet him outside the Orchid in ten minutes. Xi complained at first, but Wang's tone made him realize this wasn't time to fuck around. He pulled his Type 54 out of his desk, along with a spare magazine, holstered it beneath his jacket and walked outside. It was only a fifteen minute walk to the Orchid, but Wang took a cab. It was just too damn hot out to hoof it.

7:17pm, Outside the Red Orchid Brothel.

"Watsup got here fifteen minutes ago. Sent in two of his lackeys. Not letting anyone else in," Jiang mumbled. He was a large man with a shaved head and a soft voice.

"Stupid prick. He just wants to look busy," Xi replied, lighting a cigarette. "Might as well let him." The man was scrawny by comparison, but clever.

Wang stared at the building. It was a nice enough establishment, at least by the standards of most Roanapur whorehouses. It was largely rat-free, from what Wang recalled. Functional toilets. And it had a Coke machine.

Right now, it looked like the gates of hell. One of the top floor windows were shattered and half of a body was hanging out of it. A white man, cueball head drenched with blood, his eyes wide open and arms grazing the side of the building. Probably some sex tourist, who got more than he bargained for. Exactly what that was, he needed to find out.

"I'll talk to Watsup. Get ready to move in five minutes," Wang told his men. They looked a bit unsure, but nodded.

Making his way over to the chief, Wang saw the man looked more nervous than usual. No matter the situation, Watsup was rarely worried about anything beyond missing his tee time. He knew exactly what his position was in Roanapur and he believed (and was largely correct in his assumption) that as long as he played nice with the gangs, took the right bribes and generally kept things under a modicum of control, he was more useful alive than dead. As such, he seldom showed any visible fear at crime scenes.

Not now. The man was shouting into a radio and staring up at the building ahead of him. He looked positively nauseous.

"What? What do you see?! Fucking say something, Chayan!" Watsup yelled into the speaker.

All that greeted him in reply was white noise. Enraged, Watsup threw the radio onto the pavement, shattering it into a dozen pieces. He turned to see Wang approaching him and pointed a stubby finger.

"Hey, you're one of Chang's pups! This is one of your spots, ain't it?! What the fuck is going on?!"

Keeping his cool, Wang raised his hands in a show of peace. "I'm just as in the dark as you are. I received a call from one of my men less than an hour ago. Nothing but screams and gibberish."

Watsup took out a rag from his breast pocket and wiped his increasingly damp forehead. "That's all we're fucking getting either. I sent in two of my men twenty minutes ago. I've lost contact with both of them." He pointed at the corpse hanging out of the window. "Who the fuck does that?! Fry-face told me those creepy kids were dead!"

Watsup was referring to the infamous Romanian twins. Wang had thankfully never encountered them, but their trail of carnage was still seared into the collective memory of Roanapur's criminal underworld. Mr. Chang himself had told Wang that the two were dead and done. Hotel Moscow had seen to that.

So, if that was the case...who else would leave a corpse on display like that? Did they have a damn serial killer on their hands?

"The kids are dead. I know that for a fact. As for who could have done this...well, you said it yourself, chief. This is one of our spots. Let me and my boys find out for you," Wang said, giving Watsup a half-hearted bow. "We'll wrap this up by supper time. And handle cleanup, just for you." I'll have to find Sawyer's number, he thought to himself.

Watsup ground his teeth and crossed his arms. "You got ten minutes, pal. After that, I'm gonna call Arintaraj."

"Fair's fair," Wang said, pulling out his gun and releasing the safety. He turned around and walked back to his men.

"What's the skinny, bro?" Xi asked, already on his second cigarette.

"We're going in. We're cleaning up this mess," Wang replied. "And we have ten minutes to do it."

"Whatever you say," Jiang said, pulling out a Type 82 submachine gun.

Xi groaned. "What a damn hassle…I have a date tomorrow morning, y'know?"

"Let's go see her, then," Wang said with a smirk, gesturing toward the brothel doors.

"Real fucking funny, bro."

Two days earlier. 9:24 PM. London, England.

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat at her desk, looking over a series of aerial photographs taken only a day before. It showed a tall, feminine figure in a slinky black dress, stepping out of a boat and into a dark alleyway. She was looking straight up into the sky

"Walter...have we confirmed the veracity of these photos?"

Her butler nodded, refilling her cup of Earl Grey. "We have, ma'am. Our best technicians have told me, with utmost certainty, that there is no photographic fakery to be found. These were taken yesterday at 3:44AM Indochina Time, over the port city of Roanapur, in southern Thailand."

Integra gingerly gripped her cup of tea, sipping softly. "I was told she was dead. Killed in Leningrad, in 1978, by a Hellsing strike team led by my father...my uncle...and you."

Walter frowned. "Yes, ma'am. I...saw her die myself. Or...so I believed."

"Then why is she here, walking around in Thailand?"

"...I don't know. We are working on-"

She slammed her cup down onto her desk, cracking it in half and spilling hot liquid across the surface. "She killed my mother!" Integra roared. "Drank her dry!"

Her eyes were alight with righteous rage and Walter could not fault her. "Yes," he whispered, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping up the spilled tea. "She did."

Integra stood up and walked around the desk, until she was staring at the large portrait of Arthur Hellsing on the opposite wall. He was in his 60's when it was painted, but he still looked strong. It was before the illness took him. And before he lost her.

He was older than her, when Integra was conceived. Far older. There was no small amount of scandal behind it, from what she had learned. Her father's reputation certainly preceded him. But she...was more than his match. She was his heart and his sword. For the precious handful of years they were together...Hellsing had never been stronger. As a family. As a shield against the damned.

The fucking vampire hadn't simply murdered one woman. She had crippled an institution.

"Alucard…" Integra whispered.

The shadow of his form bled through the wall, until he stood beside her. Had he been there, the entire time? Had he heard everything? She didn't care. She had a need for her servant, tonight. And he had answered the call.

"Good evening, my master…" he whispered. "How can I be of assistance?"

"We're going to Roanapur."

"Oh?" Alucard said, grinning. "A pleasure cruise to Thailand, is it?"

Integra looked at him, her eyes blazing with a fury that filled him with a vicious ecstasy. "No, Alucard. This is merely another mission. We are to find a disgusting vampire that has lived far longer than she has any right to. We will search and destroy."

Alucard laughed, lowering himself to one knee. "And who is this pathetic creature, might I ask?"

"Her name is Feodosiya. She killed my mother."

Her servant ceased his laughter. It was one of the very few times she had ever seen him brought to complete silence. He rose to his full height, towering over Integra. His expression was entirely neutral. But his voice echoed through the room.

"Then she will die a final death," Alucard promised. "Pavani Hellsing will be avenged. Of that, my master...you have my utmost assurance."

8:25pm. Roanapur, Thailand.

"We need a new fuckin' dartboard."

Rock was digging through the fridge, looking for the last can of the six-pack of Singha that he was certain was still there. Finally spotting it behind a leftover carton of takeout, he heard a sharp thud above his head. Looking up, he saw a wooden dart sticking out of the upper half of the refrigerator, the rusty metal tip only inches from his head.

"Hey, watch where you're tossing those, Revy!" Rock exclaimed. He pried it loose, frowning at the new hole in the freezer door.

"Didn't you hear what I said, dumbass?! We need a new dartboard!" Revy shouted. "This piece of shit is falling apart."

Rock looked over at the cork target board hanging off the wall. Sure enough, it was nearly in pieces by now. "Well...you can go out and buy a new one, then! It's no excuse to throw them at me!"

Another dart flew past his elbow and clattered onto the floor, causing him to yelp in surprise.

"Revy!"

"Oh, grow some balls Rock, I wasn't even-"

The phone on the wall began to ring, interrupting whatever Revy was about to say. Grumbling, Rock stepped over and picked up the handset.

"Hello, Lagoon Comp-."

"Rock! Tell Revy to get off her ass and meet us by the Red Orchid! You come with her. Might need your uh...negotiating skills."

The voice was unmistakably Benny, but his voice was shaky and drenched with worry.

"Uh, I'll see you there. Should we be-"

"Be prepared for a mess. It's a regular fucking Carpenter film down here."

Before Rock could ask for clarification, he heard the dial tone, as Benny hung up. He gingerly put the handset back into the cradle.

Revy looked up from the couch with a sneer. "Who was that? Dutch blow a tire or something?"

Rock shook his head. "No. That was Benny. He wants us to meet with Dutch and him by the Red Orchid. He says...it's a mess down there."

Two-Hands grinned, hopping up from the couch and grabbing her cutlasses from the wall nearby. "Fan-fucking-tastic. I was bored as shit anyway."

Rock felt his pulse quicken and he moved to the fridge, still hoping for some liquid courage, but he felt himself pulled by the collar to the stairway. "Revy, wait, I-"

"Shut it, Rock! Time to go to work!"

Earlier

Wang walked through the lobby with a practiced precision. Gun raised high, flashlight in a Harries position and checking every corner; he was in his element. While he surely appreciated the status that his position as a popular nightclub owner gave him...to tell the truth, he missed times like this. Real "field" work. Hunting down some scumfuck who dared to piss on his dai lo's domain.

The building was in shambles. Someone had cut the power. Presumably the culprit...or culprits of this slaughter. It had to be multiple people. The Orchid wasn't a fortress, but it had at least a dozen armed bouncers. And while Li may not have been worth a damn, Wang knew most of the men who worked under him and they were loyal soldiers. Big fellas too. Good shots. Not easy to rattle.

He had already spotted two of them in the lobby. He recognized one of them. The one that still had a head. Missing most of his throat and esophagus, but his head was hanging in there. Liu, funny guy, mohawk. He was the doorman. Was.

The other poor bastard was lying down by the main stairs. His torso was torn open and his head was nowhere to be found. Above him, something had been painted in blood on the staircase wall.

Закуска.

Wang considered himself a learned individual. With the amount of contact the Sun Yee On had with agents of Hotel Moscow, it behooved him to learn some Russian. If only so those fucking Ivans couldn't talk behind his back. He knew this word, having shared dinner with them before.

Appetizer.

"What...what the fuck is going on here, bro?" Xi whispered. Wang could hear the low sense of dread in the man's voice. "This is...the twins are supposed to be dead! You said fry-face killed 'em!"

"Cool it, Xi. They are. I heard it from our dai lo himself. Whoever did this...it ain't the Romanian brats," Wang replied. "Get your shit together. Head on a swivel."

They searched the rest of the lobby, finding no one else. The trail of blood led upstairs. The three of them climbed the steps in sync, like a proper squad. As they approached the landing, Wang could make out a gloved hand peeking out around the corner. One of Watsup's men? Suddenly, it twitched.

As he reached the floor, Wang turned around, letting the beam of his flashlight land on the prone individual. Sure enough, he was one of Watsup's deputies. A pool of blood formed beneath his torso, but his hand continued twitching. Wang kneeled down and turned the man over by his shoulder. His eyes were closed and mouth wide open. A gaping wound on his upper chest was oozing. But...was he breathing?

"Hey...hey, dumbass, are you actually alive?" Wang whispered, slapping the man on his cheek.

No response.

"Probably just a muscle spasm. I read once, that the body will still twitch after-" Xi started to say.

The corpse's eyes shot wide open, yellow as rotten eggs. His teeth, rows of knives, lunged upward and tried to bite off Wang's nose. They would have succeeded, if not for Jiang being quick on the trigger. The man let loose with his Type 82, riddling the corpse with bullets until its face looked like shredded hamburger meat. It fell back to the floor with a thud.

"FUCK!" Wang shouted, stepping back into the wall. He aimed his pistol at the thoroughly swiss-cheesed body, tempted to add some bullets of his own. But his cooler head prevailed and he took a deep breath instead.

"Bro…" Wang said, glancing at Jiang. "Thank you…"

Jiang smiled. "I got you covered."

The teeth that sank into his neck in the next instant seemed to emerge from the darkness itself. One moment, Jiang's thick, tattooed throat was whole and unblemished. In the next, it was gushing blood like a busted fire hydrant on a summer day. The monster behind him, a short Asian woman in a silk teddy, ripped out a chunk of flesh as big as Wang's palm.

"NO!" Xi screamed, shooting wildly at the horrifying creature tearing into his friend's neck. Wang saw a bullet hit her cheekbone, shattering it and spraying gore, but she didn't cease her feast. "JIANG! FUCK!"

The sound of rapid gunfire and Xi's wailing, covered the footsteps of the approaching individual behind him. Wang had barely opened his mouth in warning, before the brothel madam, her rows of fangs dropping with saliva, leapt upon the man's back and began to chew on his shoulder. Xi screamed even louder, before the woman in front of him dropped Jiang's limp body and dove at him in turn.

The screams became gurgles, the bullets ceased and soon the only sound in the hallway was wet, crunching noises of ravenous feasting. By then, Wang had already run around the corner, seeking the fire escape.

Fuck this! I didn't...Li Zhao was right! They're monsters! Actual goddamn monsters!

He tugged at the nearest exit. Locked tight.

"Cào nǐ mā!" Wang shouted, now running to the end of the hallway. One door was cracked open and he almost dove inside, slamming it behind him. Instinctively, his eyes swept the room. Looked like a classic "playroom", complete with a cheesy heart shaped bed and a record player in the corner. There was a huge bloodstain on the floor, but no bodies.

Adrenaline still rushing through his veins, Wang grabbed a nearby dresser drawer and pushed it to the door, bracing it for the time being. He then climbed onto the bed and pulled at the window above it. It wouldn't budge.

He slammed it with the butt of his pistol into the window, again and again, but it barely even cracked. Leave it to a Roanapur whorehouse to have shatterproof windows. Wang could see the cloudy images of Chief Watsup and his deputies outside and he bashed the glass again, screaming for help.

"Your wailing is terribly uncouth, rebenok. Could you not find a quieter way to beg?"

He turned around, waving his gun, but saw nothing but an empty room. Still, the voice echoed throughout the walls.

"Wh-who-"

"Down here, boy."

Wang watched as the bloodstain on the floor began to bubble and steam, like a pot of noodle soup. Emerging from the gore, a red-drenched head began to form; a woman with long hair and a sharp nose, until her entire body escaped from the pool and stood tall within the room, as if she had risen via an elevator from hell. Her eyes opened, pools of pure black night against her crimson stained skin.

"One moment, dear. I'm terribly filthy," she said, snapping her fingers. The blood that covered her splattered to the floor again, leaving her spotless in her club-worthy black dress.

Wang screamed again, firing his Type 54 rapidly, each bullet finding its mark. The woman was riddled with shots, each one impacting her with a small pop of blood. All the while her expression of slight amusement never changed. And her body never even flinched.

Finally, he heard the click of his pistol and the last casing hit the floor. The woman rolled her shoulders and bent her neck, as each of her new wounds seemed to quiver, before each bullet oozed back out of her and clattered to the wood below. Each wound seemingly closed within seconds. She clicked her tongue in disappointment.

"I had just cleaned myself off and you wanted me dirty all over again? So rude."

With a twitch of her hand, the blood beneath her feet shifted and bubbled once again, until two tendrils seemed to rise from the coagulated crimson, like octopus tentacles painted red. They flew toward Wang with frightful speed, impaling him through his shoulder blades. Just as the first decibels of his scream escaped his lips, more blood splattered and hardened across his mouth, muffling his agony.

The woman let out of a sigh of relief. "Much better. I'm sorry to tell you milyy, but your part in this story is coming to an end. You have played it admirably, but the curtain must close now. What I do tonight should be sufficient to get them here. If their izyskannyy little spy planes haven't already spotted me, the broken and bloody corpses I leave behind should do the trick."

Wang Lei rose from his knees, having drank the ceremonial wine and blood. He walked through the line of swords above his head and smiled, as Mr. Chang raised three fingers to him and he copied the gesture with pride in his heart.

"I'm so sorry, dai lo…" were his last thoughts, as he felt another sharp tendril pierce his skull and end his time on earth.

"Alright, it's been ten minutes, I'm done with this Triad bullshit," Watsup grumbled. "Where's my radio?"

"You uh...smashed it, sir," another deputy mumbled.

"Then fucking give me yours!" Watsup screeched, yanking the device from the younger man's belt.

"Rough night, chief?"

Watsup looked up to see a tall, black man in sunglasses and a vest walking up to him, a lazy smile on his face. Behind him, a sweating, nerdy white man in a tacky shirt.

"Dutch...this is none of your damn concern!" he growled, fiddling with the knob on the radio. "I have enough trouble on my plate right now, without you and your goddamn hooligans stepping on my feet."

Dutch raised his hands in seeming supplicance. "Didn't say it was, chief. I'm just making friendly conversation." The man's smirk said otherwise, however. "Hard to avoid the crowd from here."

"Fucking peanut gallery gotta mess with my crime scene…" Watsup complained, staring at the gathered crowd with a snort. "Don't you people have anything better to do! It's Roanapur! This is the third cathouse to be shot up this month! Ain't nothing special!"

Benny jerked his thumb to the man hanging out the window. "You have to admit, that's a bit new. Most of the time, the bouncers deal with the crazies, quick and easy. This is...concerning."

Watsup shook his head. "Understatement of the fucking century," he said, finally done fiddling with the radio. "This is Watsup! I want tactical units down at the Red Orchid, right-"

There was a shattering sound, as the window to the left of the bloody corpse seemed to explode from the inside of the building. Something was thrown outside at great velocity; a red blur, which landed with a sickening plop onto the street below.

A moment passed, as the crowd caught their breath and saw what had been deposited onto the asphalt. Then the screaming began. Running. A proper panic.

Watsup shouted for order, but even some of his deputies were backing away from the scene. Dutch took the opportunity to inch forward, getting a better view of the newest player on the stage. Moments later, part of him wished he hadn't.

What was lying on the pavement could only generously be called a "corpse" anymore. It was a flayed body, skin and musculature shining in the streetlamp light. Bones had shattered when it hit the ground and the man was in a twisted position, like a drunken "walk like an Egyptian" dance. It was...to put it simply...deeply fucked up.

Behind Dutch, Benny was clutching his gut and turning away with pure disgust across his face. The boss man wasn't doing much better, starting to regret even deciding to investigate the commotion in the first place. A momentary idea to needle Watsup for information and satisfy his own curiosity was looking more like a total pile of shit.

What happened next was almost stranger than the pile of entrails now staining the Roanapur red light district. Seemingly emerging from the night itself; a pristine black Bentley drove off the main road and pulled up beside Watsup and his panicked men. The frazzled police chief actually drew his sidearm and raised it toward the driver's side window; his arms vibrating harder than a knockoff sex toy.

"Who the fuck?! Stop right there!"

A small flag hood ornament flapped in the evening breeze. A Union Jack, not a very common sight to put it lightly. The passenger's door opened and a tall woman exited the car, wearing a greatcoat and smoking a long cigar. She looked utterly unconcerned by either the gun being pointed at her face or the gruesome cadaver only a few feet away from her.

"Good evening, sir. Might I have the privilege of speaking with Chief Prasert Watsup of the Royal Thai Police force?"

She somehow managed to address Watsup in a both gracious and entirely boilerplate manner, as if she had learned his name only moments ago.

Watsup looked stunned. "I...yeah! Yeah, who the fuck are you?"

The woman adjusted her cufflinks, as if she was entering a stately party. The driver's side door opened and an older gentleman stepped out. He wore dress clothing and even a goddamn monocle. Similarly unconcerned with the situation, he stepped over to the woman and took off her coat, folding it gently in his arms, with practiced precision.

The woman smiled at the older man, before returning to Watsup with the barest hint of acknowledgement. "My name is Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, of the Hellsing Organization, in the service of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, of the United Kingdom."

"Listen you limey bitch, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm telling you to-"

"Your services here are no longer required. My organization will be taking over from here on out. I have sent the required information to your local...government, but frankly, I think we all understand that no one really bloody cares what happens in this town, so I think it's best if you save us all a lot of pointless drivel and simply take the night off. You'll only get in our way."

Watsup pulled back the hammer on his revolver, the sight providing more intimidation than his quavering voice did. "I...I just fucking said, that you can take your English cunt and get the fuck out-"

The back door of the Bentley opened and another figure joined the fray. "Figure" was the only way to describe him. The man seemed impossibly tall, at least seven feet, if not larger. The lights above them seemed to weaken in his presence, almost as if they bowed in supplication to his grand entrance. He wore a wide brimmed hat and a colossal red coat. His eyes were covered by red gemmed glasses. But his mouth was nothing but smiles.

"How did you address my master, you sagging worm? Please, remind me...I'll need to think it over as I decide your proper punishment."

In the face of the towering man, Watsup lost his last ounce of ego, his arms falling slack and the sweat pouring down his face. He holstered his gun and began to back away. "I...I didn't mean...oh, fuck…"

"That will do, Alucard. I think the Chief and I have come to acceptable terms. Isn't that right, Mr. Watsup?" Integra said, puffing her cigar.

"I...I...fuck this! This is well beyond my fucking salary!" Watsup moaned, breaking into a limping jog and climbing back into his squad car, with his similarly petrified men. "Clean...clean this up, Lagoon!"

The words were shouted at Dutch and Benny, as the cops began to speed away into the night, leaving the five (six, if you count the unfortunate soul staining the stone) of them to stand outside the looming building. The woman and the older man turned to face Dutch, while the man in the hat turned to stare at the Orchid.

"Would you be "Lagoon", then? Not part of the local constabulary, I take it?" Integra asked, a curious humor in her voice.

Dutch took a moment to process everything that had just happened. Only a moment, though. The situation didn't allow him any more than that. "Yeah, you could say that. Call me Dutch, though. We're definitely not cops. I'm the proprietor of The Lagoon Company. This is Benny, an employee of mine."

Benny looked as if he wanted nothing to do with the conversation, but also seemed terrified of offending any of them. "Uh...good evening."

"It is, isn't it?" Integra said, turning her attention to the splattered man. "Not so much for this poor bastard, though."

"I sense it, my master. Death. The brothel reeks of it," Alucard whispered. "I must see what lies within…"

"And we shall, my servant. But first, I do wish to learn a few more things...Mr. Dutch?" Integra asked, turning back to him. "Might I ask you some things about your fair city? Some things they might not have covered in the brochure."

Equally horrified and exhilarated, Dutch put on a winning smile. "Gladly...but just give me one moment." He turned around and gave Benny a serious look. "Call Revy and Rock...get them down here. This situation just went from fucked to fortuitous."