Welcome to the fourth chapter of my story.

Sorry that I am more then slightly late posting this but it has been a vaery hectic week because of my theater rehersals.

I would like to thank Verya and Blackpanzer for reveiwing my story yet again and to thank Gunslinger Roland for reviewing my story.

I do not own Hellsing or any affiliated characters.

I do own John Riley so please ask permission before using him in a story.

Warning at one point of this chapter John Riley does go into detail about what kind of tortures he would use. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with reading such material. However I will admit it is a pretty small part of the story.

All reviews are welcome, justified flames accpeted, and advice is appreciated.

London, England - Present Day

She leans back into the overstuffed, black leather chair, still not conceding the staring contest, she says, "We will of course gladly accept your expertise." She loads the word with as much condescension as possible, "You will go to the armory and have Walter check your weapons and he will send you out to the trouble spots. Is that clear?" I grin and reply, "Crystal." I stand up and bow mockingly. I walk out the oak double doors and into the corridor where Walter is waiting. Walter is staring at me with these wide eyes, so I ask, "What's up Disney?" He replies, "You went into a stare down with Sir Integra, and you are not babbling about funeral plans?" I let myself have a few chuckles. "No Disney I am made of some sterner stuff then most people. Well, why don't I grab what I got in my room and we can go to this armory of yours."

We are inside the armory, it is in the dungeon area of manor. However unlike most dungeons it is not dark, dank, and unsanitary. "Hot dickety damn. How many weapons have you got here?" I gaze down the shining steel walls, the place had the feeling of a hospital, there was that antiseptic smell, the cool air conditioning, even the feeling sterilization. However unlike a hospital the walls were covered with weapons ranging from a Ninja's Shuko to what looked like a 90mm Anti-Tank gun. Walter replied, "We have not done a survey of the armory since 1952 because it was deemed that it would take to much time and resources to complete such a survey." How do you respond to something like that? Then out of the corner of my eye I see Walter is smirking at me. I decide it is time to get down to business, I plop my beat up old hiking bag down on a steel table, I proceed to take weapons out of my holster and lay them down on the table. I say "Let's see Disney, first off, here are my constant companions." I take out a long black hard leather case from my hiking bag, I unlock the clasps and take out the Duganov, I continue, "This is Besty, my long range weapon. She is a Duganov SVD which uses the standard 7.62 mm bullet. The bullets themselves have a steel core for armor piercing ability, they are of course silver coated." While talking I present Walter a clip of the Duganov, he inspects it it nods satisfied. I put Betsy back into her case. Then I pick up the matt black .44, I say, "This is Harry, he is a .44 magnum revolver, I grew up on Dirty Harry, so I was pretty happy to get a piece like this. I asked for the matt black coloring so it wouldn't reflect any light. Better for stealth, you know how it is Disney." He nods again and replies, "Yes, I know how it is." I look up at him, I look into his eyes, I look past that stupid monocle of his, and I realize this is any regular butler, this is man who has survived battle to the point where battle has become his friend. It was something in his voice which gave it away but now I see this is a man who has not only met death, but has learned to spit in his eye. I ponder this epiphany until Walter says, "Is that all you have?" I shake my head no, I pick up my shotgun pistols and say, "Now here are my pride and joys. Two custom made shotgun pistols with lever actions, each capable of holding 4 shells in a cylindrical underslung magazine. They have teak stocks so I don't have to worry about them warping." Walter nods at all of this and says, "What are there names?" I am startled and I ask in a whisper, "How did you know they had names?" He responds in a calm voice, "You have named your other weapons, in my experience people who do this don't stop until all their weapons are named." I put the the shotgun pistols gently on to the table. I cover my face with my right hand and answer his question, "Yes, they have names. This one," I point, with my left hand, to the pistol that I carry with my left hand, "is Caladbolg. This one," I point to the pistol that I carry in my right rand, "is Vajra."

I hear the pain in John's voice these names carry meaning for him and I suspect that if his hand was not covering his face I would see the tears in his eyes. I look at John, he is nearly 6' tall, his hair is such a dark brown that in indoor lighting it looks black, it looks like he cuts it himself and that he does not comb it at all. His face is lined with anger, worry, and battle scars. His eyes show the most about him though, his black eyes show the pain that he has suffered. They show what kind of man he has become, to survive this pain that he feels. I look at his clothes and see the weathered brown leather jacket, a pair of jeans that could have been bought at a third-hand flea market, they were so frayed at the bottom. His shoes are combat boots that looked like that had been bought at a Army Surplus store. I decide that he has had enough time to dwell, so I ask, "Do you have any melee weapons?" He collects himself and says, "Yes, I got a couple melee weapons." He pulled a butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket. John continued by saying, "This is my Cernwennan. She is a silver coated butterfly knife. Then lastly I have my BPQ" I ask, "What is a BPQ?"

Las Vegas, Nevada - 2 years ago

She sees it in my eyes, the cold, unmerciful judgment, the weighing and balancing of her life. She begins to sob, her eyes beg me, give me life, I am not ready to die. The pause lengthens, the Brit is getting nervous, I need to make my decision fast, I make it. I utter that terrible word, "No." The Brit's face takes on an incredulous expression, the woman is stunned by the terrible finality of my words. She gazes down at her blue dress with the fake diamonds hanging off her neck and begins to cry silently. The Brit finally is able to spit out a word, "What?" I repeat myself, "No, I am not going to put down my,'hand cannons,' as you call them." His brain begins to catch up to reality, "I'll kill her. Don't think I'm messing about." I stare right into his eyes, the woman has gone completely silent, she realizes that she is probably not going to get out of this alive, too bad. I reply, "No, I don't think your messing about. In fact I think your quite serious in your threat. But you seem to mistake me for man who cares about life. Do you really think that if were such a man that I would be in my line of business. No, I do what I do, because I don't give a damn about life, I don't let anything stand in my way." I pause for a second, wishing for a drink. "I just want you to know one thing however, You are only going to have one shot. After that I will be on top of you like a fiery mountain." He sneers at me and replies with sarcasm dripping from his voice, "What, are you going to kill me?" I calmly say, "No, in fact quite the opposite, you are going to live. You are going to live a lot longer then you ever wanted to live." He stares at me as his expression becomes grim as his mind begins to understand the message and he whispers, "I thought people like you had ideals to follow." I whisper back, "My ideals, died, with my wife and daughter. Now, from my point of view you have two choices. One choice leads to a quick and painless death. The question is do you even want to know what the other choice is." His face twists into a rictus of anger and snarls at me, "You DARE threaten me. I am of the undying people. You can not threaten me with these words for I feel no pain." I grin at him and say, "Well, why don't we take a small bet on that. After you have been castrated, your skin burned off, salt rubbed into your wounds, your digits and your limbs cut off, and blood just beyond your fingertips. After all of that tell me then that you can not feel pain." He is beginning to sweat, the blood begins to bead on his brow. He's getting nervous, I decide to speak up, "One way or another you are not going to leave this room accept as dust. Do one last good deed, if you have to bow out of the game, do it with grace." He looks into my eyes and he understands, he shoves the girl aside and raises the pistol. I drop Caladbolg and Vajra, as I begin to drop and roll forward. I hear the pistol fire. Once, twice. Then I roll into a crouch and I leap at the Brit. I am staring into his eyes, I am so close I can smell the blood on his breath. He looks down and sees the pool que sticking through his chest. He looks back at me. I stare into his blue eyes and say, "Go to the hell you belong to, and remember that when I die give me a warm welcome." I rip the que out of his chest and he disintegrates into dust.