(Author's note: Thank you once again Kitsunia for the uber-wonderful reviews. It sure feels nice to get appreciated for all my hard work. And is it just my computer, or are the chapters I have put up recently not showing up on the Hellsing section? Did I do something wrong? If you know, please tell me either by review or email. My address should be in my profile. I want these stories to be read by more than just me, sheiro2, and Kitsunia. I have plenty of seats open for who ever wants to show up. Gestures to audience, or rather their seats, as there was no one else in the room, save for the vampiric hippo that grinned and laughed at Z. Damn you hippo! I'll get you one of these days! Pulls out Acme Hippo Net TM, and chases after vampire hippo.)
Order 3: Accuracy
After leaving the infirmary, Marcus and Pip said good night to Seras, who went downstairs to her room.
"You know, you really do have a sick mind. Are you just a walking hormone or something?" said Marcus with a mischievous glance at his instructor. Pip just grunted and walked on to the barracks, leaving Pip to go to his room.
After a nice shower, Marcus got dressed in some pajamas and looked for a few minutes out of his window. Interesting. Just a week ago, my primary concern was whether I would pass biology. Now I can kill the undead in about twenty minutes. He stayed there, watching the other soldiers keep watch, some with dogs, around the grounds of the Hellsing estate, when some pebbles hit the top of his head. Looking up, he saw a single white dove flying off into the trees, gracefully riding the currents of air the way a bullet soars to its target. Walking back to his bed, he saw that he had forgotten to store his Archangels in the armory for safe keeping. Picking them off his dresser, he walked out of his room and through the halls of the Hellsing mansion.
This isn't right; I've already passes that painting. Where is the armory? Marcus wondered. He had tried to find a map of the place, but it seemed that they had restricted access, in case they fell into the wrong hands. Now completely lost, he tried the three doors in range. The first led to a cleaning closet, the second a bathroom, but the third room led to the weight room. Good, something familiar. Me and Pip always go from here to the shooting range, which is right next to the armory. He walked past the rows of dumbbells and floor length mirrors in the darkened room, when he thought he heard a noise from behind him. Looking behind him, he saw only the various weight machines that the Hellsing Organization owned. Shrugging, he walked on to the door that led to the shooting gallery.
Now in the shooting gallery, Marcus could hear gunshots. Figuring that it was just some soldier getting some late night practice, he walked on. It wasn't until he was about thirty feet away from the shooter did he smell another scent mixed in with the gunpowder. It was strong, and rich, like finely polished mahogany. Taking a few more steps, he was finally able to identify it: cigar smoke.
Sir Integra Hellsing was in the thirty-seventh booth, unloading clips into paper targets. She had taken off her green suit and wore a white linen shirt, green slacks, and suspenders that complimented the blue, crossed tie at her neck. The paper targets that she had already used were stacked on a small table in the next booth. Despite the number of bullets she had shot, only a single hole was left on the heart of each and every one.
Stepping closer, he saw her narrow her eyes in hate as the next target presented itself. Gritting her teeth, her body turned rigid and vibrated as the force of the discharged bullet went through her body. In between shots, Marcus could hear her speaking.
"Die-you-bloody-freak. Die-you-God-damned-demon. Die-die-die-die-Die!" she screamed. She pulled the trigger once more only to find that she had run out of bullets. Hurling the gun against the wall behind her, Sir Integra stood there panting for several moments until Marcus spoke up.
"Are you alright, Sir Integra?" he asked in a small voice.
Startled, the head of the Hellsing Organization turned towards him, tears now welling up in her eyes. "Mr. Banks," she said, while wiping her eyes. "I didn't realize that you were here. Forgive my outburst, I'm fine. I'm fine."
"With all due respect Sir, you don't look or sound fine. What's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
"It's nothing, I just…well, I miss my father." Integra answered. "Silly, isn't it? Me, Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, head of the Hellsing family and Organization, misses her father."
"Not at all Sir. If I may ask, what happened to him?"
"He died, when I was a few years younger than you. Lung cancer, from a few too many cigars, made an old bullet wound worse. I was still so young back then…" she answered, sitting down at the table of used targets with Marcus. "He was one of the best; there was nothing he couldn't handle. He somehow found time to run the Organization, protect all of England, and raise me alone, my mother having died of malaria when I was two. And I… I can't even keep vampires out of my home. I couldn't stop those freaks from killing your family, I can't run this organization without that vampire's help, I can't even get all of my paperwork done! How am I supposed to protect all of England when I can't even properly defend my home?"
She paused and looked up at him with a sad smile. "You must think of me as a weakling," then her face grew hard. "but one word of this to anyone, and you will be in the worst orphanage in the country."
"I don't think of you as weak, Sir Hellsing…" Marcus said.
"Oh, then how do you think of me?" she said, eyes narrowing threateningly.
"I think you're glorious." was his quiet reply.
She stopped, and sat there for a moment with her mouth agape, unable to believe what she had just heard.
"I'll be retiring to my room, sir, if you need me for anything else. Goodnight Sir Integra." he said respectfully. Marcus got up, pushed in his chair, and walked into the armory.
In the fluorescent light of the shooting range, Integra rested her head in her arms, and mouthed a silent thank you.