Bombs fall all around us. Walter begins emitting that wail again, like he's done before. Bodies and parts are strewn about; some obviously my Angel's handiwork, others merely casualties of war. Gunfire echoes all around us and in the distance.
For five days, there had been no 'Angel of Death', only Walter. He sits huddled in the bunker, his clothes stained in blood and bile, fear vibrating from him, sweat rolling down his face, eyes wide.
Alucard frowns. He'd elected to wait until 'Walter' receded and his 'Angel' assumed control, but it had been so long and his 'Angel' still hadn't emerged. Perhaps he'd made a mistake by not intervening immediately when he found him.
Alucard had gone searching for Walter when he didn't return from what a fairly routine mission. The task should have taken two days, he'd been gone five. When Alucard finally located his 'Angel', this shell before him was all that remained. In fact, though Alucard has sat with him these five days, Walter had yet to actually acknowledge his presence. Several times he'd called Walter's name, but there had been no response. The one time Alucard touched him, Walter had screamed and scrambled to the other side of the bunker to the place he now occupied, fear frozen in his face and eyes.
A deeper frown. What could have reduced his perfect 'Angel' to this trembling mess before him?
In the distance, he could hear more aeroplanes approaching.
