Orders: Responsibility
By Type 35
Disclaimer: All characters and such are property of their respective owners, and therefore are not mine. No profit was made from this.
Note: Takes place 10 years before the incidents in the first chapter, and month of the battle with Incognito. Author's Notes and Review Responses at bottom. Further Bulletins as Events Warrant.
" . . . here at the scene, where police have cordoned off a good portion of the London docks. Apparently, the terrorists have taken a number of hostages, and have snipers on the top of the building. It is currently a stand off situation, and . . . hey, who are you?! What do you think you're doing!? You can't do that, we have a free press! Hey, someone stop her before she . . ."
Any viewer at home would have seen the on-location newscaster switch from calm and collected to a frenzy of rage shortly before his cameraman swung to face the person said tweed suited man was yelling at and brandishing his microphone towards. The camera unsteadily captured the image of a blond haired D-11 agent, cap pulled down over her forehead, her features obscured by the backlight effect produced by the flood lamps the police had brought in. It was only a brief image though, as a second later a white gloved hand extended to block out the lens, and cracks spiraled out on hundreds of TV sets as the focusing crystals on the camera shattered. A second later the signal turned to static.
Which was, in any event, just as well since the newscaster had stopped broadcasting at that point anyway. His jaw was to busy gaping wide as he watched the policewoman crush the barrel of his video camera within her small hand.
"Sorry about that . . . you're camera, I mean. The home audience really shouldn't have to watch this kind of violence, you know." The blond spoke cheerfully, before raising her head and smiling at the two stunned newscasters.
The cameraman just nodded dumbly, the spokesman still gaping too wide to answer. Satisfied that the intrepid members of the reporting public wouldn't get a chance to broadcast what was going to happen next, Ceras Victoria walked away from the two and disappeared into the milling crowd of police officers and D-11 agents. Hopefully, none of them would notice her uniform sported a Hellsing badge.
'Well' she thought to herself as she ducked under a cordon and made her way to the front of the blockade and stopped in front of a hastily erected series of sandbags and steel plate. Early on the responding police had realized the terrorist had at least a few good shots with them. 'Here comes the hard part.'
The vampire inhaled deeply, extending her senses and taking in all the smells, sounds and tastes of the London night. The salty, almost sweet sea air mixed with the tangy scent of diesel, the cool of the mid-night, the hustle of her companion officers and even the far off clanging of the harbor buoys as the floated and bobbed in the dark waters. Releasing the breath, she clenched her jaw shut, and acted.
Vaulting over the make-shift barrier in an explosion of raw muscle, she hit the pavement running, making a mad dash for the loading docks. 200 meters. Bullets pinged all around her ripping up chunks of pavement in a hail of automatic fire as the ghoul 'terrorists' began sending round after round in her general direction from their positions on the fortified roof of the darkened dock house. 100 meters. A split second later, she heard gunfire from behind her, as the police opened up, targeting the muzzle flashes of the building dwellers. Not that it would do her any good. They weren't using silver.
50 Meters. She knew the men in uniform had absolutely no idea what was going on. They would offer no support, save the return fire they had just begun. Despite setting a track record for the 200 meter dash, she knew she wasn't as fast as him. Even though she had just vaulted a wall to cross a 600 foot kill zone, she wasn't as sure of herself as her.
But as Ceras crashed through the loading door and the freak just behind it, she knew that she was enough. She was the only one that could stop this situation. And so she would.
Tucking and rolling as she crashed on top of the freak, she scrambled to her feet, clumsily yanking a Desert Eagle from her waist holster and leveling it at the dazed artificial vampire. She squeezed.
The freek's torso vanished in a spray of blood, the hollow point .300 grain, .357 round impacting somewhere around the left lung, before flattening and tumbling, ripping the body apart. A spray of blood, then ash.
Her enhanced hearing warned her a half second before the bullets would have impacted with her head. Ceras leapt and rolled, coming down hard on the concrete floor as she took cover behind a barrel of some sort. The firing stopped as her attacker realized she was out of range.
"The bitch got Toby! Yaz, go start fading some of those hostages. Told those fucking cops we didn't want any fucking heroes . . . and release some of the zombies, flush this bitch out . . ."
'Well, this could have gone better . . . ' Ceras got up into a crouch and surveyed the area.
Though poorly lit, her eyes could piece the scene together as if it were day. The warehouse was huge, a massive fish processing plant if she judged right by the smell. The floor was strewn with crates and barrels, a few forklifts were huddled in one corner. The north wall was another set of loading docks, and against the south wall row upon row of freight containers were stacked like a giant's staircase. She was currently crouched against the east wall of the building, and following the sound of her attackers voice . . .
Catwalks crisscrossed the ceiling, and two figures tread upon them. One, holding some sort of automatic rifle was apparently the idiot that had been shooting at her. The other, similarly armed, was walking towards the southwest corner, towards a lighted two story office. She could almost sense the fear radiating from the building inside a building.
'The hostages must be in there. Have to do this quickly . . .'
"HEY POLICE BITCH! NICE TRICK YOU PULLED, PRETTY FAST ON YOUR FEET! SORRY THOUGH, GONNA KILL SOME HOSTAGES, THEN GONNA KILL YOU!" the apparent leader crowed, and punctuated his statement with a healthy burst of gunfire, tearing apart several of the barrels behind which Ceras hid, and dousing her with a pulpy substance.
'Oh that does it . . . he is dead . . . real dead . . .' she screwed her jaw tight again and wrinkled her nose at the smell of the rotting fish guts that now graced her clothes, the smell almost overpowering her senses.
Removing her other Eagle from her webbing, she darted out from behind her cover, hauling towards the stacked freight containers. Bullets tore a path behind her as the freek followed her movement, but she didn't slow.
She leapt. First to one container, than the other in some perverted game of leap frog, metal sparking as lead impacted onto the freight cases. Reaching the top of her impromptu stairs she was right next to the catwalk that led to the second story of the office.
And, with another quick leap, she was, coincidentally, right between the door to the office, and the other freek.
She tightened the muscles in both hands, barely feeling the recoil of her pistols, and sent the surprised trash over the guardrail. He was ash before he landed.
The rounds from her other assailant finally hit home, clipping her right arm and sending one of her weapons tumbling to the floor 20 meters below. Still, it wasn't silver. And she wasn't trash like them. It wouldn't stop her. People were counting on her.
Even as her right arm recoiled from the blow, her left raised, sighted, and fired.
The room fell silent.
'One more obstacle . . .'
Walking away from the office, Ceras holstered her weapon, and unslung an MP-4 from her back. Flicking off the safety, she grabbed a rung from a dangling ladder, and proceeded to make her way to the roof. A few ghouls to clean up, then . . .
An hour later the Hellsing operative watched the police storm the building from her perch on a nearby roof. They arrived, guns drawn and riot shields up, to find it empty save for the hostages. No bodies. Little blood. And the occasional silver round amidst piles of ash.
Ceras sighed as she watched them work, leaning against a smoke stack, idly rubbing her left hand over where she had been hit. Already, the skin had healed over.
'I wish it were that easy to keep this up. But with Integra locked up in the Tower, and . . . Master under confinement in the dungeon . . .' she sighed, and stood to leave.
Dropping lightly to the ground, she started towards her flat. Reaching a busy street, she paused to hail a cab, and collapsed into the back seat, mumbling directions to the driver, idly hoping that he wouldn't ask about her bloodstained clothes.
'Integra would have a fit. A Hellsing operative reduced to taking a taxi too and from the job. But then tomorrow's another day, and I need to get home before sunup. Not a very reassuring thought. Responsibility is far, far overrated.'
Author's Notes:
I was rather impressed by the people that reviewed. In that light, this prequel is given. You can attribute it to the initial four reviewers that such is the case. Henceforth, the title of this fiction shall change simply to Orders. Each chapter will be given a subtitle, and will be placed in accordance to the timeline in which they occur. I tend to write slowly, so please don't get your hopes up too high as to the pace of the release. Whew. That was a mouthful. On to a few more interesting notes. First, a thank you to all those who reviewed; they are excellent encouragement, and they mean a lot. I will, periodically, do review responses. Maybe. And suggestions or ideas are always welcome. Please keep all comments civil, though. My thanks.
Word Dreamer: Thanks for being the first reviewer, and the comments. Though this chapter was substantially different than the previous one, I hope you enjoyed it.
Maith: Well, little bit faster than weeks. Anyway, Alucard will be a bit more cold in the earlier Orders. But I write at a tectonic pace most of the time, with the occasional burst of activity. Thanks for the review.
Hellsinglover: Alright, more story it is. OOC is always an issue, but I'm just gonna keep on right ahead. Hope it doesn't come out too OOC, though I know I've made Ceras a little more powerful than she is at the end of the anime, she's on par with the Manga version, I think. Thanks for the review.
Dark-Saber: Well, now it's a two shot, at least. Thanks!
By Type 35
Disclaimer: All characters and such are property of their respective owners, and therefore are not mine. No profit was made from this.
Note: Takes place 10 years before the incidents in the first chapter, and month of the battle with Incognito. Author's Notes and Review Responses at bottom. Further Bulletins as Events Warrant.
" . . . here at the scene, where police have cordoned off a good portion of the London docks. Apparently, the terrorists have taken a number of hostages, and have snipers on the top of the building. It is currently a stand off situation, and . . . hey, who are you?! What do you think you're doing!? You can't do that, we have a free press! Hey, someone stop her before she . . ."
Any viewer at home would have seen the on-location newscaster switch from calm and collected to a frenzy of rage shortly before his cameraman swung to face the person said tweed suited man was yelling at and brandishing his microphone towards. The camera unsteadily captured the image of a blond haired D-11 agent, cap pulled down over her forehead, her features obscured by the backlight effect produced by the flood lamps the police had brought in. It was only a brief image though, as a second later a white gloved hand extended to block out the lens, and cracks spiraled out on hundreds of TV sets as the focusing crystals on the camera shattered. A second later the signal turned to static.
Which was, in any event, just as well since the newscaster had stopped broadcasting at that point anyway. His jaw was to busy gaping wide as he watched the policewoman crush the barrel of his video camera within her small hand.
"Sorry about that . . . you're camera, I mean. The home audience really shouldn't have to watch this kind of violence, you know." The blond spoke cheerfully, before raising her head and smiling at the two stunned newscasters.
The cameraman just nodded dumbly, the spokesman still gaping too wide to answer. Satisfied that the intrepid members of the reporting public wouldn't get a chance to broadcast what was going to happen next, Ceras Victoria walked away from the two and disappeared into the milling crowd of police officers and D-11 agents. Hopefully, none of them would notice her uniform sported a Hellsing badge.
'Well' she thought to herself as she ducked under a cordon and made her way to the front of the blockade and stopped in front of a hastily erected series of sandbags and steel plate. Early on the responding police had realized the terrorist had at least a few good shots with them. 'Here comes the hard part.'
The vampire inhaled deeply, extending her senses and taking in all the smells, sounds and tastes of the London night. The salty, almost sweet sea air mixed with the tangy scent of diesel, the cool of the mid-night, the hustle of her companion officers and even the far off clanging of the harbor buoys as the floated and bobbed in the dark waters. Releasing the breath, she clenched her jaw shut, and acted.
Vaulting over the make-shift barrier in an explosion of raw muscle, she hit the pavement running, making a mad dash for the loading docks. 200 meters. Bullets pinged all around her ripping up chunks of pavement in a hail of automatic fire as the ghoul 'terrorists' began sending round after round in her general direction from their positions on the fortified roof of the darkened dock house. 100 meters. A split second later, she heard gunfire from behind her, as the police opened up, targeting the muzzle flashes of the building dwellers. Not that it would do her any good. They weren't using silver.
50 Meters. She knew the men in uniform had absolutely no idea what was going on. They would offer no support, save the return fire they had just begun. Despite setting a track record for the 200 meter dash, she knew she wasn't as fast as him. Even though she had just vaulted a wall to cross a 600 foot kill zone, she wasn't as sure of herself as her.
But as Ceras crashed through the loading door and the freak just behind it, she knew that she was enough. She was the only one that could stop this situation. And so she would.
Tucking and rolling as she crashed on top of the freak, she scrambled to her feet, clumsily yanking a Desert Eagle from her waist holster and leveling it at the dazed artificial vampire. She squeezed.
The freek's torso vanished in a spray of blood, the hollow point .300 grain, .357 round impacting somewhere around the left lung, before flattening and tumbling, ripping the body apart. A spray of blood, then ash.
Her enhanced hearing warned her a half second before the bullets would have impacted with her head. Ceras leapt and rolled, coming down hard on the concrete floor as she took cover behind a barrel of some sort. The firing stopped as her attacker realized she was out of range.
"The bitch got Toby! Yaz, go start fading some of those hostages. Told those fucking cops we didn't want any fucking heroes . . . and release some of the zombies, flush this bitch out . . ."
'Well, this could have gone better . . . ' Ceras got up into a crouch and surveyed the area.
Though poorly lit, her eyes could piece the scene together as if it were day. The warehouse was huge, a massive fish processing plant if she judged right by the smell. The floor was strewn with crates and barrels, a few forklifts were huddled in one corner. The north wall was another set of loading docks, and against the south wall row upon row of freight containers were stacked like a giant's staircase. She was currently crouched against the east wall of the building, and following the sound of her attackers voice . . .
Catwalks crisscrossed the ceiling, and two figures tread upon them. One, holding some sort of automatic rifle was apparently the idiot that had been shooting at her. The other, similarly armed, was walking towards the southwest corner, towards a lighted two story office. She could almost sense the fear radiating from the building inside a building.
'The hostages must be in there. Have to do this quickly . . .'
"HEY POLICE BITCH! NICE TRICK YOU PULLED, PRETTY FAST ON YOUR FEET! SORRY THOUGH, GONNA KILL SOME HOSTAGES, THEN GONNA KILL YOU!" the apparent leader crowed, and punctuated his statement with a healthy burst of gunfire, tearing apart several of the barrels behind which Ceras hid, and dousing her with a pulpy substance.
'Oh that does it . . . he is dead . . . real dead . . .' she screwed her jaw tight again and wrinkled her nose at the smell of the rotting fish guts that now graced her clothes, the smell almost overpowering her senses.
Removing her other Eagle from her webbing, she darted out from behind her cover, hauling towards the stacked freight containers. Bullets tore a path behind her as the freek followed her movement, but she didn't slow.
She leapt. First to one container, than the other in some perverted game of leap frog, metal sparking as lead impacted onto the freight cases. Reaching the top of her impromptu stairs she was right next to the catwalk that led to the second story of the office.
And, with another quick leap, she was, coincidentally, right between the door to the office, and the other freek.
She tightened the muscles in both hands, barely feeling the recoil of her pistols, and sent the surprised trash over the guardrail. He was ash before he landed.
The rounds from her other assailant finally hit home, clipping her right arm and sending one of her weapons tumbling to the floor 20 meters below. Still, it wasn't silver. And she wasn't trash like them. It wouldn't stop her. People were counting on her.
Even as her right arm recoiled from the blow, her left raised, sighted, and fired.
The room fell silent.
'One more obstacle . . .'
Walking away from the office, Ceras holstered her weapon, and unslung an MP-4 from her back. Flicking off the safety, she grabbed a rung from a dangling ladder, and proceeded to make her way to the roof. A few ghouls to clean up, then . . .
An hour later the Hellsing operative watched the police storm the building from her perch on a nearby roof. They arrived, guns drawn and riot shields up, to find it empty save for the hostages. No bodies. Little blood. And the occasional silver round amidst piles of ash.
Ceras sighed as she watched them work, leaning against a smoke stack, idly rubbing her left hand over where she had been hit. Already, the skin had healed over.
'I wish it were that easy to keep this up. But with Integra locked up in the Tower, and . . . Master under confinement in the dungeon . . .' she sighed, and stood to leave.
Dropping lightly to the ground, she started towards her flat. Reaching a busy street, she paused to hail a cab, and collapsed into the back seat, mumbling directions to the driver, idly hoping that he wouldn't ask about her bloodstained clothes.
'Integra would have a fit. A Hellsing operative reduced to taking a taxi too and from the job. But then tomorrow's another day, and I need to get home before sunup. Not a very reassuring thought. Responsibility is far, far overrated.'
Author's Notes:
I was rather impressed by the people that reviewed. In that light, this prequel is given. You can attribute it to the initial four reviewers that such is the case. Henceforth, the title of this fiction shall change simply to Orders. Each chapter will be given a subtitle, and will be placed in accordance to the timeline in which they occur. I tend to write slowly, so please don't get your hopes up too high as to the pace of the release. Whew. That was a mouthful. On to a few more interesting notes. First, a thank you to all those who reviewed; they are excellent encouragement, and they mean a lot. I will, periodically, do review responses. Maybe. And suggestions or ideas are always welcome. Please keep all comments civil, though. My thanks.
Word Dreamer: Thanks for being the first reviewer, and the comments. Though this chapter was substantially different than the previous one, I hope you enjoyed it.
Maith: Well, little bit faster than weeks. Anyway, Alucard will be a bit more cold in the earlier Orders. But I write at a tectonic pace most of the time, with the occasional burst of activity. Thanks for the review.
Hellsinglover: Alright, more story it is. OOC is always an issue, but I'm just gonna keep on right ahead. Hope it doesn't come out too OOC, though I know I've made Ceras a little more powerful than she is at the end of the anime, she's on par with the Manga version, I think. Thanks for the review.
Dark-Saber: Well, now it's a two shot, at least. Thanks!
