Sir Integra Hellsing was frustrated. Her recovery was slower than she'd like. They told her it would take months of physical therapy. But they didn't have months. She remembered the first time she looked outside. Through a giant Gothic window. When a flock of black crows, thousands, inked across overcast skies.

They possessed a specimen in the lab. With silky feathers. Normal bullets didn't work on them. Only silver, mercury, and holy water. A telling sign to Integra. The worst part, their red eyes. They seemed familiar. Integra chalked it up to nostalgia. She dreaded what it meant otherwise.

The doctor was getting on her nerves. "Sir Integra, you must not overexert yourself. You already exercised for four hours today, two more than recommended. You'll strain yourself."

"The only thing strained around here is my patience! The Round Table won't listen. The Queen is about to succumb to popular opinion. So, help me..." she clenched her fist out in front of her. It had only been a few weeks, yet she could still barely hold onto an apple. She hated being so frail.

"Lady Hellsing," a guttural voice announced. She turned to see Lord Winston, a man with long silver hair and curls that made her jealous. He was her staunchest supporter on the Table. But not even the two of them could make the rest see reason. They preferred subjugation over death. Cowards, all of them. "May I say you look very refreshed this evening."

Sir Integra frowned. She was not used to someone who was able to tolerate her moods. There had been no one since Walter really. But Lord Winston possessed a unique and laid-back disposition, a disposition which belied a hunger to free England from this monstrous tyranny, a trait Sir Integra could get used to.

"Refreshed enough to know what I need to do, Lord Winston. If the Table won't cooperate with me, I'll just form my own "relief" effort."

His brows drew together for a moment and seeing the beginnings of a smirk on Sir Integra's face, he understood. Smirking as well, he congratulated her on her benevolence. "If you're so dead set on this little charity of yours, I could be persuaded to donate a few million, as well as a coalition of...aid workers."

Sir Integra lit a cigar. "I'm sure the others will be eager to contribute as well."

Lord Winston nodded, reflecting on a few favors he could call in.

"We need a staging area. You said my manor still stood? We'll operate from there."

"I don't mean to second guess you, but it's been a historic site for years now. I've been inside. Everything was gutted by bureaucrats looking to make an extra dollar. The weapons, the artwork. There's better, more defensible places to set up camp."

"Probably," Sir Integra admitted. "However, whether bureaucrats or criminal, these treasure hunters could never have breached the recesses of the basement. Only myself and my butler knew how to gain entrance into my more sensitive storerooms."

Lord Winston smiled. "I'm going to hazard a wild guess and assume you're talking about guns."

Sir Integra released a puff of smoke. "Countless."

Greed. The root of all evils. But the greed in our hearts is often hard to perceive. Not so much we want to attain this or that. Rather we are frantic to hold onto what we already have. The hatred of losing things motivates all people. Youth, jobs, loved ones...your own life. Heinkel liked to think she had nothing left. "Go, sell your possessions..."

She sold her will to the Holy See. She was taken in as an orphan and raised to be a soldier. To outsiders she might not seem to have much choice. Yet the church provided her an education. She used to be a beautiful woman. There was a time before she took her vows when she could've exited, found a husband, and started a good Christian home.

Father Alexander Anderson, however, was her role model. He was kind to her when no one else was. Sure, he could be extremely strict, and she understood he only disciplined out of love.

But his zeal, unmatched! Compared to him, she was a wilted disfigured rose. He was the one who inspired her to take this path.

One time she was tempted by the idea of settling down and forming a family.

Now she protected the same homes and families that she was close to cultivating when she was young.

But looking around London, sniffing the pestilence in the air and watching how the rats live better than the humans, she began to wonder, if she was doing just the opposite.

Thus far she had noticed there were little to no relief efforts. In fact, likely she had wasted more monsters on the way here than the English government. After the death of Hellsing they forgot what kind of dangers lurk out there. The price of throwing away tradition. Generations, always thinking they know better than their forefathers.

Speaking of tradition, the Hellsing Manor still stood. Heinkel did not know why she was here. Or rather, she did know, and she despised herself for it. At first, she was simply coming by to reminisce from a distance. But there was activity and not undead activity. The place was as busy as a fortress. Every now and then, you could hear shots. Target practice perhaps, or it could be the sentries culling the birds which dared to flap overhead. Heinkel had to see more.

It was simple enough sneaking inside. It was clear these soldiers were not interested in security from humans. Heinkel retraced her steps from a century ago. She would find this commander, and either eliminate him, or leave him be with full confidence that the intel would be enough to satisfy the archbishop.

At length when she was almost to the main office, some guards accosted her, asking for her identification or some such drivel. Britain had really fallen to not be able to recognize a Paladin.

She easily brushed them aside, waving off their attempts to threaten her with their little 9mm's. Kicking the doors wide open, Heinkel froze at the sight of the lone inhabitant, a figure in her chair, looking out through the expansive window at all the activity happening on the grounds. Heinkel recognized the hair and the distinctive smell of the cigar smoke.

"I'm not here for two weeks," the figure began, "and the Vatican is already calling on my doorstep."

"Integra Wingates Hellsing. What a surprise," Heinkel grumbled in her harsh handicapped English. Most people would be wondering how Integra was still alive. Heinkel sensed no witchcraft, and frankly, the woman did not interest her.

Sir Integra swiveled her chair around and appraised her new guest. The Paladin looked no different than the last time she saw her, except for an underlying lethargy that wasn't there before. "Eternal youth getting to you, Paladin?"

"Everyone dies."

"What's the saying? Some die twice, their heart, and then their body."

"I should kill you. It would make the Vatican happy."

Sir Integra narrowed her eyes. "I admit I do not know what kind of terms England and the Vatican are on right now, aside from openly hostile of course. I wonder if I should assume the worst."

Integra snuffed her cigar out, pulled open a drawer, and threw a black carcass on top of her desk. The stench was terrible, but neither person flinched. "I thought this might have been the work of Alucard but seeing as how this attack is secluded primarily at the West, I quickly discarded that theory. Alucard makes no distinction between his victims. So, seeing as how the Mediterranean is practically untouched, I am forced to draw other conclusions. But then, the Holy Church of Rome would never stoop so low."

Heinkel Wolfe snarled, but not with regards to Hellsing. Heinkel resented the fact that such an accusation could be made at all. She resented the fact that the accusation was true!

Integra seemed to understand where Heinkel was coming from. If there was one impression of Anderson it was that he taught his pupils well. "Men make mistakes."

"Not that I care about the deaths of heathens and protestants such as yourself. However, you would be interested to know that certain facets of the situation are more reproachable to myself than you can fathom. I might be willing to exchange this information for something in return."

"Oh? What would that be?"

Heinkel marched up to Hellsing's desk and looked her square in the eye. "I do not have the authority to enforce it, so I will need your word. Your word is good, correct?"

Integra grew more cautious. "As a knight, my word must be absolute."

Heinkel nodded and rolled up her sleeves. "Only if you find this information worthy, which you will, then I request your word. When all is said and done...give your vampires to me. Or dispose of them. I don't care how you do it. The age of monsters is over. The world has changed over the last hundred years. Before this…" she motioned to the window. "…chicanery, people did not fear monsters. They were relocated to myth once again. And the world was a better place for it."

Sir Integra leaned back in her chair, wearing her best poker face. "And after all this business is concluded, tell me. What would prevent the Vatican from mounting another crusade against England? What deterrence would you suggest?"

Heinkel shook her head. "As much as it is preferable to kill them, however you would do it, in the end it doesn't matter to me as long as they are put away. Seal them, etcetera. Use whatever witchcraft you like."

Sir Integra shifted in her seat. She reached out and snuffed her cigar out on the wood furnishing. "You say this information will be helpful to ending this war?"

"Critical," Heinkel assured her.

Sir Integra was divided in her heart. As much as she wanted to tell this Paladin to get out and go to hell, her countrymen were supposed to come first. "You have my word then."