A/N: Keep an eye out for some cameo lines. I thought they would be amusing. Oh, I noticed that I seem to be beating Hunter up a lot. Ah well...shameless use of other peoples characters and lines.

He smiled as the cat loped off. For a moment, he had thought that it might actually answer him. That was when the scream reached his ears. He ran, reaching for his pistols, but coming up empty. Damn, left them back at the manor. All I've got is ammunition and munitions.

He rounded a corner to an alley as gun shots rang out, finding the group of four friends being attacked by several FREAKS. Vash had his pistol out, what looked like to Hunter to be a modified Mateba Long Colt revolver. It fired .45 rounds, just like one of his backup pistols did. Not a problem, if he could get them away from the FREAKS for a moment or so.

The preacher had a Colt .45 auto single grader pistol in his hand. Neither weapon was doing more than making the vampires more than pissed.

The shorter woman had a few derringers lying at her feet. Now what had she thought she would do with those things? The tall girl's minigun would be better off. At a closer look, he saw that it was only a gas driven stungun. Still though, to swing it around like that, she's a strong girl.

One of the FREAKS lunged, causing the blonde's pistol to be knocked from his grip, flying back to land in Hunter's hand. He fired the remaining four rounds, driving the FREAKS back. He marched forward, hitting the release catch, ejecting the spent shells. He reached into his pack, drawing one of his Colt clips out and thumbing six rounds into the cylinder, snapping it shut. He pitched the clip to the preacher. "Head and heart shots only," he said. He put actions to words, firing the heavy revolver twice, putting a round into the head and heart of the first FREAK to stand back up. He swung his aim to another as he heard the semi-auto firing. The remaining three vampires crumpled to dust. He hit the release catch, catching the ejected shells and holding the two silver rounds up.

"Vampires," he said. "Or near enough. Silver rounds put em down for good. Lead just pisses them off." He reloaded the Mateba and handed it to the tall man. "Keep it loaded like that till you leave England."

"What are you?" asked the shorter woman as she collected her tiny pistols.

He smiled faintly, making sure to keep his fangs hidden. "Just a good Samaritan. I deal with garbage like that all the time." He started to walk away when he heard some scrabbling behind him. He spun, seeing two more FREAKS and several ghouls come from further up the alley.

"What a day to leave the cross at the hotel," muttered the priest as he fired again. The lead FREAK reached out to shove a trash midden out of the way, and a black shape leapt out, attaching itself to it face. He stumbled backwards, clawing at the shape even as it leapt from him.

Was that the black cat from earlier? thought Hunter. He pulled a small device from his bag, setting his thumb firmly on the switch embedded in one of the grooves. He strode up even as the preacher and the blonde fired the last rounds from their guns, dropping several ghouls.

"If you would step back and mind your selves, I'll clean up the rest." He rolled the sphere forward, then made to step behind a midden, but was grabbed by a FREAK as it rushed forward. He was pulled back, and he turned and slugged the monster hard, turning to duck behind cover even as the grenade exploded, sending silver shrapnel out, dusting the remaining ghouls and the FREAK. Hunter grunted as shards of the metal bit into his flesh as well and the concussion wave threw him into the wall. He slid to the alley floor, dazed.

A black glove slid into his view. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, then took it as the form it was attached to helped him up. He shook his head to clear the ringing. He bled from several cuts and he probably had a mild concussion.

"Thanks," Vash said. "You need help to a hospital or anything?"

Hunter shook his head, digging one of the silver bits from a cut and dropping it to the ground. "No, I'll be fine." He saw the gathered people's faces shift into surprise as the cuts started sealing themselves and forcing what debris there was out. "See?" he said.

Wolfwood smiled. He slapped Vash on the shoulder. "I knew there were people out there as odd as you, Needle Noggin!"

Vash smiled weakly. Apparently, he didn't like the teasing nickname, or the implications that the preacher was making. "Thanks again, Mister. We owe you." He considered the piles of dust. "You're a good shot," he said.

Hunter shrugged. "Good, bad, I'm the one with the gun," he quipped. "Consider it repayment for the light," he said as he pulled another two clips and a notepad from his bag. He scribbled out an address. "Just send the magazines back to this address when you're done with them."

The tall blonde took them and tucked the address and a clip away after handing the other to the preacher. "What are you guys doing with weapons, anyway?" Hunter asked, wanting to let his wounds heal a bit more before moving out.

The woman in white gave a slight frown. "I'm not so sure what we can tell you," she said cautiously.

Milly looked at her. "Oh, lighten up, Meryl." She turned to Hunter. "We're trying to find his brother," she said, jerking her thumb at Vash. "We're to bring him back one way or another." Her cheerful tone almost dispelled the hint of reason for bring such large artillery with them. Apparently, his brother was big trouble.

Hunter stood, raking bits of trash from his hair. "Thanks again for the light," he said, turning to leave.

"Thanks for shooting those goons off our back." Wolfwood said. As Hunter left, he heard him say "You think you can handle killing those things, Tongari?"

"Technically, they're already dead, so yeah, I'll be alright."

Hunter came to the mouth of the alley, seeing the black cat sitting there, cleaning its paws. It looked rather satisfied with itself. He reached out and rubbed its large head. "You look pretty happy. Just what is your story, anyway?" he said playfully.

"Nayow," mewed the cat, glad at the attention.

Hunter smiled and left, blending back into the shadows that cloaked the streets, heading for the local RAF base. His last contact would be there.

Seras Victoria down the hall to the office where Amon and the others would be waiting. She and Hunter would be the last to return because of the far reaching locales of their assignments. Inside, she saw Alucard sitting in a comfortable chair, his eyes closed but moving restlessly.

"He's been like that for hours," said Walter. "He has been unable to locate Sir Integra as yet."

Seras dropped the envelope Angel had given her on the table. "This was all Angel had, outside of some greetings."

Amon opened up the envelope and scanned its documents. There were several technical looking papers, a hastily scribbled list of computations, and a piece of parchment that had unusual symbols on it. Seras didn't recognize them.

Amon held up the parchment. "Anyone able to read this?" he asked. No one spoke up.

Robin came in with several sandwiches and a pair of blood packs. Seras drank, feeling a little odd at feeding in front of people that weren't familiar with the thirst she had. It didn't even seem to register as everyone looked at the papers, trying to make some sort of sense of them. "Anyone have any sort of luck?" she asked.

Amon shook his head. "The only thing I got from anyone was the name Erik Valar. Brandon Heat said that there was a lot of talk in the underworld about the call for hired guns." He gestured to the spread out documents. "You came up with more than anyone." He picked up the parchment again. "Maybe that Watcher guy could decipher this."

"No need," Alucard said.

They looked at him. "You can read this?" Robin asked.

"No, but Hunter can. This is an old form of Celtic. He'll be able to read it like it was the back of a cereal box." He picked up his blood pack and began draining it, scanning the technical documents.

Walter looked at the scribbled calculations. "This appears to be a calculation of mass and a cross reference of a lunar chart. What ever it is in regards to will happen at the next full moon."

Alucard glanced out the window. "Six days from now," he said.

Though he was commenting on a time frame, everyone knew he was really saying 'We have six days to find Integra and rip the throat from whoever did this.'

Hunter shook his head. Why she insisted on doing this was beyond him. He sat in the command couch and pulled the canopy shut over his head. Ever since he had flown with her in the first Gulf conflict, she made it a point to test his skills every time he came by. He fastened the helmet and positioned the microphone/breath mask assembly over his face. He flexed his fingers in the think flight gloves. They were thicker than his usual fingerless ones that he had worn, though they were against regulation.

"Sam, tell me again why you do this every time we meet?" he said into the mask as he flipped the power switch for the simulator.

Her voice came back. "I want to see if you've atrophied any. Old-timers who don't fly regularly get slow."

Another voice came over the comm. "Sam, don't forget, technically you haven't flown one of these for a while either."

"Affirmative, General O'Neill." She seemed to smile at the title.

"Cut that out. I'm still Jack to you."

The sky appeared on the projection screens around Hunter, and he went through the 'takeoff' like it was pulling on his shoes. He caught the transponder signal for Sam Carter's fighter and turned towards it. He selected guns and started a weave, a corkscrew maneuver that would make it difficult for her to lock on with her missiles. It was a dizzying maneuver, one that humans couldn't duplicate without worrying about suffering a 'red-out', where the blood rushing into their heads made them pass out. He didn't have to worry about that anymore than he did blacking out from lack of blood to the brain. He could and had pulled moves that could have had the ship fail before his body did.

"Cheater," Sam said, firing the first round of cannon fire into the cone that Hunter was forming.

He stood his 'craft' on its left wing and pulled into a steep bank. He wanted to slide in behind her and pepper her tail with a few well placed shots, but he also wanted to enjoy the almost sensation of being in control of an aircraft again. He snapped rolled onto the starboard wing and turned his bank into an S-turn, coming up behind Sam's ship as she reduced speed and banked to where he should have been.

He fired a few rounds, clipping her wing and upright tail fin. "You're getting sloppy, Major."

"Sorry, haven't fought against someone wasn't predictable in a while." She started flipping the craft around, trying to shake his computer lock.

"That's no excuse," Hunter said as he reduced speed and let her pull out in front of him, causing her maneuvers to be less pronounced than they were from up close. He made sure the computer had a solid lock and then flipped over to missiles and fired before the craft had even signaled a lock. A trail of propellant shot out and he watched as it hit her craft, passing through it and exploding on the other side. Her craft spiraled down to the ground, breaking apart and exploding as it did. He hit the power switch again, smiling as he cracked into the mask "The Defense Department regrets to inform you that your daughter is dead due to stupidity."

He unstrapped and stood as the dry "Ha ha ha, very funny, 'Goose'," came over the speakers in his helmet. He shucked it and climbed up and out of the simulator. He looked at the malt-blonde woman climbing out of the sister simulator, her hair somewhat matted to her forehead. The man coming from the control room stood about Hunters height but massed much less, his greying hair cut short and hid under a black baseball cap. The single star on his collar was new, a recent promotion. Both he and Carter had unusual jumpsuits, with a large patch with a Delta shape on it on their left shoulders. He didn't have any clue what it stood for, but he knew better than to ask. He might be brought up to date on it someday, but until then, it was need-to-know.

He shook both of their hands. "Carter tells me you were a hot hand on a stick in the Gulf," O'Neill said. "Why'd you leave the service?"

"I had," he paused, unsure of how to put it. "Other obligations to attend to. Family problems, if you will."

"Bad enough to have you travel around with a small arsenal on your hip?" the general said. So he had peaked in his bag.

"For shame, you shouldn't root through other people's things," he said dryly.

"Not my fault. Daniel came in and knocked it over. So what sort of problems would require you to use silver rounds?"

Hunter had got the impression that he might not be the brightest bulb, but he was quick enough when it came to the military. He smiled, letting his fangs show slightly. "Like I said, family."

He got the hint, but unlike several others that had faced his smile, didn't flinch or blanch. He'd seen some rough things, apparently.

"General O'Neill," a deep voice said from behind them. A tall, broad chested man came up, a gold emblem set in his dark forehead. Hunter barely kept from staring. That was unusual. He also caught the slight undercurrent of a second scent about the man, as though he were two beings. Whatever that meant.

"There is a telephone call for Mr. Hunter. Someone called Seras," he said, turning a raised eyebrow to Hunter. The small goatee on his chin bristled as he worked his jaw muscles.

"Thank you, Teal'c." O'Neill gestured towards the control room. "If you would come this way."

Hunter listened to Seras as she described what Angel had given them, and the parchment. He frowned. Why would something be written in old Celtic? It hadn't even been used to keep records of deeds. It was used for tombstones, but then the people of his village had already been using English at that point.

"Do you have some sort of Fax machine?" she asked. "We could send it over so you can take a look at it."

He looked at the military types and tried again not to stare at the serpent symbol on the forehead of the man named Teal'c. O'Neill shook his head. "We've got land lines only at the moment, and I'm not so sure how our hosts would take it if we were to commandeer their office to use a fax machine."

"No go on the fax, Seras. Hold on while I MacGyver something up here." He turned to O'Neill. "Got a pen and paper?"

O'Neill shook the odd look from his face and got the requested documents. "Ok, Seras. Just look at the paper and open your mind up."

He sketched out the shapes, and looked at it in surprise. It was Celtic, a very old mode, but the words didn't make sense. He scanned the indicators over the sigils that stood for consonants, trying to work out the unfamiliar vowel identifiers. "Thanks, Seras," he said, and hung up.

"Where did you get that?" asked Sam, coming up and looking over his shoulder.

"It's a document my team found in part of an investigation of an underground movement involved in the proliferation of artificial vampires. Which is what I wanted to talk to you guys about."

Teal'c came up and looked at the scribbles. "It bears some resemblance to Goa'uld writing, but the underletters are unfamiliar to me."

Hunter looked at him in confusion. "Goa'uld?" he asked.

"Family problems," O'Neill said, echoing his earlier remark. "What can you make of it, Teal'c?"

"Nothing."

"Hold it, Teal'c, are these vowels?" Hunter asked, pointing to the unfamiliar indicators above the sigils.

"Some. Others are indicators of stress or doubled letters."

"Jot them out, please."

Hunter looked at the page, and with Teal'c's translation managed to scribble out the Celtic in English. He then looked at it as he translated it. Or most of it.

"Something about a signaling device for something called Anusan. I don't recognize the term. It isn't Celtic."

"Nor is it Goa'uld. The term is unfamiliar to me as well."

A small man in glasses came in, the combat clothes looking somewhat out of place on him. "Daniel, you know anything about something called Aunt San?" asked O'Neill.

"Anusan," corrected Hunter.

"Oh, of course." The small man rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. "Old Romanian, possibly Transylvanian or Walachian in origin, dating back to..."

O'Neill put his hand over the man's mouth. "How about telling us what it means, huh?"

"Devil's Hand."

"Great," said Hunter. As if life wasn't hard enough with the FREAKS, now they wanted to bring in the Devil. He wondered about calling up Cole to see if he knew anything about it.

"Heard of it?" asked Sam.

He shook his head. "No, but if it isn't just some grand term for something, then it's going to be big trouble." He stood. "Thanks for your help, guys. If you ever need another pair of hands or another three eyes, give me a call."

"Three eyes?" asked Daniel.

But Hunter had already phased into the shadows on the wall, surprising all in the room as they watched the slight ripple on the wall.

O'Neill said to no one in particular "Ah well," He looked at his friends and shrugged. "More coffee for me."

Integra sat somewhat slumped as the jailor brought in her meal. He looked at her. She appeared asleep. He went up and put the tray down in front of her and stood, turning around to leave. He then felt something wrap around his neck and a sharp pain, then nothing.

Integra unwrapped her legs from his broken neck, releasing the chains she had held onto to hold her at that height. She hooked the toe of her shoe in the ring of keys on his belt, fumbling with her manacled hands for the one that would release her.

A/N: What, you thought I'd let her just stay locked up? This is Sir Integral Hellsing!
She slipped from the room, and checking for patrols, made her way up the corridor, seeking freedom. She paused as the vampire's voice came up the stone hall, speaking to someone.

"Her blood will help with the opening of the Seals," he said.

She shook her head in disgust. Why was it every vampire that she faced personally wanted her blood for anything other than drinking? She thought that there was only one that she would even consider letting taste her blood. She shook her head in surprise.

Where had that come from? That, that flash, that glimmer of feeling? For Alucard?

She missed what the other voice said as another came into play, raised in anger.

"Erik! Why did you leave my men to be caught, captured? I worked hard to get those men and harder to train them!"

"Calm yourself, Knives. There was no huge loss, and you will be well compensated for your troubles." The smooth voice was obviously not concerned. "In any case, we should be glad that they did not anger that priest. I understand that he can be rather, sharp tongued when it comes to his sermons." There was a bit of laughter.

"What do I care about the religions of spiders? But you said that there would be no complications, no problems. What happened, O Great One?" his smooth voice spoke in taunting tones. This one wasn't used to being the servant, Integra noticed.

"The arrival of the two vampires and two witches is somewhat concerning, but not overly so. Calm yourself," There was a sound like the bunching of cloth.

"It wasn't just two vampires, your Worshipfulness." There was a chuckle of derision. "One was a Dhampir, by name of James Hunter. He has been known by many others through the years, as well. Perhaps you would know him as Robin Valar?"

There was a sound like the hissing of snakes. The smooth voice of Erik came softly, coldly.

"So, it seems as though my wayward son is finally starting to make a name for himself. Pity, when it comes time for me to kill him. I rather thought he had potential when he was younger."

Integra gasped at this. Hunter was this maniac's son? What was going on?

The voices were getting softer, moving down the corridor. She slid out, heading for the stairwell she saw not too far down the hall. If she got far enough from the Writs, she could call out for Alucard and get out of this hellhole.

But even though she thought about the dire situation she was in, she couldn't quite force that image of the vampire's Cheshire cat grin from her face. Or the phantom feel of his arms around her body.

Erik Valar sat upon his throne, eyes shut, sending his mind out to his son, knowing that the blood that ran in his veins would let him communicate on this level. It would, however, be a bit painful for the recipient.

Such a shame.

He found his son's mind, and stabbed into it.

Hunter was in the midst of describing the translation when a steel spike was driven into his skull. He collapsed, hands gripping his temples as a wave of agony rippled through his body, squeezing his stomach and cramping his legs. His fangs sprung into full force, his fingernails lengthening somewhat, eyes going transparent. His mouth was open in a wordless scream, lungs unable to force any air through his vocal chords.

I have something of yours, son. Why don't you and your friends come and get it? I'm sure that you and I will have a lot to talk about, old times to remember.

Hunter's throat was released and a distressed scream came from him as the pain of the invasion was increased as the steel spike was pulled from his mind. He just laid there, feeling the waves of pain flowing through his body, feeling for the hole that had to be in his skull, dimly hearing the voices of his comrades speaking in concerned voices.

Father, he thought as his vision swam in and out of focus. Of all the things I needed right now.

As he blacked out, he saw Seras kneeling over him, tears in her eyes as she tried to get him to respond, and recalled idly that the first thing he had meant to teach her was how to shift her outer appearance so that she could hide her eyes without having to use contacts or glasses.

They are rather beautiful eyes, he thought as he fell through the layers of pain into blissful unconsciousness.

"What are we going to do?" asked Seras as she looked at the peaceful form of Hunter on the couch.

"I don't know. I am rather distressed at this," Walter admitted. "I've never seen anything like this before."

Alucard looked at the prone figure. "I have. When mental contact is initiated between a Dhampir and its sire without consent, it causes a lance of pain in the mind of the recipient. I seem to recall that it is rather intense the one time I felt it."

"You've got a Dhampir son?" asked Walter, amazed.

"Yup, good old Junior." He chuckled. "He is off somewhere, trying to deal with that damned parasite he picked up somewhere. He always was a bit too independent for his own good."

Robin brought in a basin of water and a towel, cleaning the blood that had flowed from the lips Hunter had bit in the convulsions that had followed his passing out. When she was done, she placed the damp towel on his forehead to help keep him cool. "He's got a bad fever," she commented, wisps of her blonde hair trailing across her face.

Amon was on the phone with that Watcher he had mentioned earlier. Seras looked at him, wondering what they would turn up about this Devil's Hand.

"Has anyone given thought about what he said?" Seras looked around. While he had been on the floor, he had said the words that had bidden in his mind. "What would his father have of his?"

"His life, possibly." Walter said. "Most Dhampirs and their sires are bound to battle, with only one able to survive. Should the offspring win, by drinking the blood of his parent he is given the chance to be human again."

"It could be Integra," Alucard said. "Why else would he contact him?"

"It could be a stapler, for all we know." Seras stood. "We need to wait until he recovers before we speculate. In the meantime, I'm going to go and see what else I can find out."

Alucard watched as she phased from the room. Yes indeed, his fledgling was showing backbone and independence. It was a good sign.

He looked down at his inert friend, his slashed lips moving as he talked in whatever fevered dreams he was having. Too bad it had come at the cost of his friend's health.

As she had before, she leapt from one shadow to another all the way to LA. She meant to find this Angel fellow and find out what he knew. He had to know something. She felt tears forming at the corner of her eyes but forced them back. She stepped out in the dark boardroom of a posh office building, seeing Angel standing with a short blonde woman and an athletic looking man with bleached hair. They turned and looked at her in surprise. Then the bleach-blonde rushed her, saying "I've got this one, guys."

Great, she thought as she threw him across her hip in an old police takedown move. A hunter. She pulled out her Gravedigger. "Aw, you look like a sensitive, intelligent guy. Don't make me shoot you. I'm in a hurry."

"No worries there, lamb." he said from his place on the floor. "But I object to the 'sensitive' crack,"

"Spike, calm down." Angel went to help his friend back to his feet. "She's with Hunter."

"Why couldn't she have said so, then?" he said, standing and brushing the sleeves of his leather coat. "Look, love," he said to her as he righted himself. "Around here, vampires don't just go about popping into people's offices. It makes some of us a bit stake happy."

"It wouldn't have worked on me anyway," she said.

"Whoa, it wouldn't have worked on you?" the blonde girl looked back and forth between her and Angel. "When did they get all wood resistancy?"

Angel looked at her with a look of patience. "Two strains of vampires, Buff. One, ours, was here from the start. The other, hers," he said, gesturing at Seras. "Came about later as a deal with the Devil. Or the Source. Whatever he's calling himself these days."

Seras looked at him, hands posted on her hips. "Could we do this at another time? Hunter's been hurt, and I need to know anything you have on the Devil's Hand. We're already talking to some Watcher in England,"

"Talking to old Rupert, are you, lamb?" said Spike. "He'll talk the ear off of whoever is meeting with him and not a word of it'll be proper English. It'll be some mixed up translation of Gibberese or something, even with Nibblet there to help him out." He lit a cigarette.

"Spike, tone down the tough guy act." Buffy turned towards Seras. "What do you need?" she asked.

Seras smiled and laid out what she needed. "If you could cause chaos or mayhem to distract some people while I slip in, that is," she said.

Buffy smiled and gestured at the two vampires. "Meet Chaos and Mayhem. They're a double act."

"Leo!" the brunette called, brushing her long hair from her eyes. She stood for a moment, then called out again. "LEO!"

The man orbed in behind her. "What, Piper?"

She looked at him, hands brushing against the slight swell of her stomach. "You know very well what. Now get in there and deal with your son."

"Which one?" he asked.

She didn't have a chance to answer as the door to the manor blew open and a demon leapt in, energy ball leaping out. Piper gasped, hands flying up in reflex. The demon froze in midleap, as did the energy ball. She frowned at the frozen figure. "Oh, you," she said, pointing a finger at it. Paige came in, vial in hand. A few moments later, it was a pile of ash and Piper waved her hand back towards the living room.

"The older one," she said. The smashing of wood caused them to turn, seeing the hole the energy ball left in the piano as her waving hand had released it before Paige could dispose of it.

"Oops," she said.

At that moment, there was a jingling sound. Leo looked at his wife. "Saved by the bell," he said.

"Oh no, don't you even think," He orbed out. "About orbing out on me." Piper finished. She turned to Paige.

"Don't look at me, he's your husband." She put down the bucket of water she had intended to douse the energy ball with. She brushed her skirt clean. "I'll be going now," she said, orbing.

"LEO!"

He returned, a look of concern on his face. "Piper, not now. We just took a big hit and someone is about to open a gateway for a massive evil."

"What do we do, then?" she asked.

"Nothing." His face didn't ease. "This is something that the Charmed Ones can't face. All we can do is keep an eye out for increased demonic activity."

The sound of a breaking vase came from the living room, followed by a delighted child's giggle.

"Leo," she began, but he was already gone.

He was in a long corridor, draped in a coarse brown robe, its hood drawn over his head. In his hand was a sword, cold light coming from its blade. He looked around, not recognizing the area or the scents. Sounds floated up, voices. He didn't know what they were saying or who was speaking.

He started heading towards the end of the corridor, and he felt something bouncing against his leg. He looked down, and saw a long monk's rosary. He picked it up, and felt the round wood beads.

A voice floated up, in Chinese. His mind translated almost automatically. "What is Laughter, what is Joy, when the world is ever burning? Shrouded by darkness, would you not seek the light?" He recognized it as part of the meditations he had learned from a man in Peking almost a hundred years ago.

Another voice came to him, a thick and hearty voice. He recognized the voice of Carl Sandburg, but he had never met the man. The voice said "I'm an Idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on the way."

Another voice, tinged with American Indian subtones. "You know, the next time you people come to drive us off our land I'm gonna find a nice piece of swampland that's so God-awful maybe then you'll leave us the hell alone!"

What was going on? Voices from the past and movie quotes? What was next?

Alucard felt the turmoil in his friends mind, and was about to help ease it when a voice cut through his mind like a knife. ALUCARD!

He jerked, recognizing Integra's call. He turned to Robin and Walter. Amon was still on the phone, dictating what he was being told.

"Watch him," he said, fading from sight, his hat in hand. "I'm going to get my master."

And with that, he was gone.

A/N: Ok, I've taken Hunter out of commission because he's been moving too much to the front. I want to do some Seras development and build on the AxI bit. So if anyone actually has taken a liking to him, don't worry...he'll be back eventually.