I don't own Hellsing or the characters here. The Iscariots belong to Kouta Hiraino, and he can keep them, thank you very much.


"Alright, alright! Will you all just shut up!"

The tall, burly priest looked over the large crowd of priests and nuns and sighed. "Now that I've got you're attention. Let me make one thing extremely clear. This is both an honor and a curse. It is a curse because you have, most likely, done something very horrible to find yourself in service here. It is an honor because Holy Mother Church has decided that you are not completely beyond saving. So I want you give us your fullest atenttion." He nodded to the old man standing next to him. "Father Matthews?" He stepped aside and let the Iscariot head take the podium.

New year. New recruits. And a good seventy-five percent of them not good enough to make the cut. A couple caught his eye. Ones that he could almost count on making the grade.

The short haired girl he had rescued from the ghouls years ago. The one who emulated his style of dress, as far as one could in the service of God.

The girl Father Renaldo had brought back with him after visiting Japan. He hadn't spoken about where he found her or what had happened. But Anderson, always one to keep up with the news of the day, had noted that the heads of several major Yakuza clans had gone missing.

And finally... him. That child. That long haired, frightening child. The "special" child.

All three of them would make the grade. He'd seen enough beforehand that they would the best of the best.

He looked over his future troops and sighed. More for Hell's Meat Grinder. More children to send to do die.

He suddenly realized that Father Matthews had stopped his rambling speech. Father Marco Renaldo was taking the podium.

Father Anderson knew what Marco was going to say. He said the same thing every year.

"This is the most important lesson that I can teach you. Remember what we are. Remember are creedo." Slowly, with great theatricality, he pulled a folded up piece of paper and spread it out on the podium. He adjusted his glasses and looked up at the crowd.

"ISCARIOTS!" He shouted, jolting the crowd into wakefulness. "To you we ask aloud, who are you?"

"We are the Iscariots!" the crowd shouted back. "The Legion of Judas Iscariot!"

As Renaldo and the young ones went through the creed, Anderson couldn't help but watch the "special" child. The child he had helped raise.

Enrico Maxwell paid no attention at all. He stood there, reciting reflexivly, without meaning. His eyes showed that he was elsewhere. Elsewhere, dreaming of something else.

And, for neither the first time, nor the last, Anderson wondered if had done the right thing sponsring Enrico Maxwell into Iscariot. He wondered if he was creating some horrible situation that would destroy many.

And he wondered if he would have to be the one to stop it.