Orders: Surrogate
By Type 35

Authors Pre Note: Realized I never said what Continuity this followed. Anime, for simplicities sake. Pip Bernadette, though he is a beloved character, will not be playing a role in this story. I am working on a one shot, however, that will be ready relatively soon, in a geologic time scale, in which he will play a prominent role.

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Batting the alarm clock against the wall, Ceras silenced the infernal contraption once and for all. Additionally, she also took a good chunk out of the wall, but that is neither here nor there. The point is, don't wake a vampire up before they're damn well ready.

"God dammit . . ." she muttered, blearily rubbing sleep out of her eyes and rising from her bed. She hadn't slept well since she returned to her flat; a bed just no longer seemed right anymore. Uncomfortable. Confining. Perhaps even, strangely enough, claustrophobic.

'Never thought I'd miss my coffin.' Ceras smirked to herself as she stumbled towards her kitchen.

Arriving, she padded across the cold tile floor, not bothering to flick on the lights, or pull back the heavy curtains to allow the moon to shine through. Being a vampire did wonderful things to her utilities bill where light was concerned. Reaching her goal she popped open her fridge and reached inside to select a blood packet, tearing the cover off the feeding tube and collapsing into a nearby chair to drink.

Had anyone been around to observe, they would have noticed all the habits of a well developed and entrenched routine. The casual slouch of the sole occupant of the room, the garbage pail full of . . . well, overflowing with empty blood packets, the apparently at random scattering of large caliber handguns and various ammunition atop the dinning room table . . . it may not have been a normal routine, but it was definitely there.

As the blood pack emptied, Ceras tossed it over her shoulder, not bothering to see if it landed in the trash. Instead, she leaned forward in her seat, and began arranging the various tools of her trade that were scattered across the table. The results of her inventory did nothing to please her.

'5 clips of Silver Desert Eagle rounds, if I don't hot load. Two boxes of silver 9mm's. MP-4, two Desert Eagles, and my standard issue SIG-pro. Silver tactical blade. And . . .' she glanced up at the fridge, then back down to the weapons in front of her. 'Less than a week's worth of blood packs left.'

Sighing, Ceras pushed away from the table, and reached for the corded phone mounted on the wall, and pulled a sheaf of papers from a nearby counter, and sorted through till she found her target, a personnel file for one Major Stasi. It was time to call in some help.

It had been hard enough to get her small armory to begin with. As soon as Incognito had been banished, MI-6 had descended upon the scene and things locked up tighter than Hellsing Hall's fine silver. Integra, as far as she could tell, had been airlifted to a hospital along with Walter. From there they were both removed to the Tower of London and were under lock and key. Alucard had been at least temporarily resealed on the authority of the Round Table, though at least her Highness hadn't issued the order. Thank heaven for small favors. Or as Ceras had figured, Hell would have been the more appropriate guardian entity in his case.

The remaining soldiers of Hellsing had been disbanded until further notice and the Hall was put under armed guard. She herself had been largely ignored . . . apparently, Integra had listed her as Killed in Action. Which was, she supposed, technically true . . .

It had taken Ceras three hours to successfully break into her former home, a process which required her to 'assist into unconsciousness' five security officers and destroy several thousand pounds worth of surveillance equipment. Even after all her fine work, she still only had enough time to grab the weapons and ammunition she now had, personnel files and contact information from Walter's desk, and as much blood as she could carry before reinforcements from D11 were called in.

Punching in numbers, she brought the receiver up to her ear, and waited as it rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Hello?" a voice answered, albeit sleepily. "Who is this?"

"Ceras Victoria." She answered tersely. Stasi was always a by the book type. Up front and direct would undoubtedly be the best approach.

"Sergeant?" The sleepiness abruptly dropped from the voice, instantly alert, a hard edge surfacing amidst the drowsiness. "What's going on?"

She sighed. "Nothing at the moment, but I'm in need of your help. And the rest of the survivors."

Another pause. "The docks. And the park. The subway, too, was that you?"

"Yes," she replied. "Look, I don't want to talk about this over the phone. Who can you get together?"

Stasi sighed on the other end, pausing in thought, before his baritone voice returned to the line. "Pretty much everyone that's left. Bonner, Reuters, Lackmay, Johnson, and the rest of Squad Five."

"We need to meet. Where and when?"

"Give me two hours. Red Eye Pub, down in the south end. I'll represent Squad five, but I'll try to pull the others from whatever they are doing."

Two hours later found all the remaining ex-Hellsing agents gathered in a small, quiet little bar about an hour from Victoria's flat. It was a rather humble affair, and seemed to cater to the near-do-wells of the area. Apparently the main industry of the town was a manufacturing plant of some sort, judging by the grease smeared blue overalls a number of the patrons wore. Still it was clean and well maintained, the floors gleaming, bar and railings showing spit and polish. Overhead, wooden ceiling fans circulated air with a gentle whoosh, though the sound was almost inaudible over the noise of an old, wood paneled TV set that rested behind the bar, towards which the few patrons directed their gaze.

'Not too surprising a choice of meeting place, all things considered.' Ceras noted as she walked towards the far wall where her compatriots were already seated, Stasi sitting at the head of the rectangular table.

She gave her plans one more mental once over as she completed her approach.

"So, Sergeant, what exactly is going on? Is Hellsing being reactivated?" Stasi grinned over his beer, smirking at the vampire.

Upon meeting Gerald Stasi, the first thing one would note about him was that he was Big. Not so much tall, and certainly not fat. But his wide shoulders, and solid frame seemed to say that he was about as movable as sea wall. Things break against it, but seldom does it buckle. The crisply pressed shirt and slacks, along with his crew cut, gave the giant man a sort of military air, as well.

She had heard that on one of his missions, he had actually managed to beat a freak in a bear handed fistfight. Quite an accomplishment, that.

Even more important than his strength, Ceras realized, was what he brought with him. Before being inducted into Hellsing, Stasi was an operative for a mercenary group functioning out of South America and a charismatic one at that. If she could bring him aboard she would have little trouble convincing the rest; Squad Five had been his command, after all, both before and after he joined the Organization.

"Just because Hellsing has been . . . deactivated, doesn't mean the Freeks are going to politely pack up and go home. Something needs to be done." She voiced, sitting down in an empty chair.

One of them, a thin, wry man, leaned forward. "Let's cut to the chase, Victoria. We've all seen you're antics on TV. You want to keep on with Hellsing's mission. But we need pay. No pay, no play." The man finished by knocking back a shot of whatever concoction it was he was drinking.

Ceras snorted. "Lives of the innocent mean nothing to you, huh?"

In Ceras' mind, it was a shame that Reginald Reuters had not died in the engagement with Incognito. From his greasy dirty blond hair to his rumpled outfit, everything about him screamed 'sleazeball', as if issuing a warning to all who would engage him in conversation. He was the kind of man Integra had feared recruiting after the debacle with the Valentino brothers. In one notable incident, the bastard had wired the female agents locker room with video; Ceras imagined that he was still nursing wounds from that little occurrence. But his talents, and his connections, made him invaluable. Hell makes for strange allies.

Reuters shrugged. "Only so far as I can buy my next meal with em. We're mercs, Miss. Stasi might be happy just blowing shit to kingdom come, but I want cash."

Stasi turned to look at the man. "Hell with you, Reuter. Just cuz I have a sense of duty . . ."

Reuters laughed. "You just like to pick fights. Given that, nothing else much matters to you."

"Great appraisal, Dr. Wiseass. In a second, you'll need a real doctor to extract this chair leg from your rectum after I shove it sidewa . . ." Stasi began, starting to rise from his seat.

Ceras coughed, cutting both of them off before it could escalate further. "You're a tribute to your species, Reuters. No, Hellsing isn't being reactivated . . . as Such. I've got a lot of cash saved up from the life insurance that paid out on my original death, as well as my savings, from the sale of some property I owned when I 'died', and my salary from Hellsing. It's enough cash to keep you guys at your old salaries for about 6 months, and provide a fair amount of gear. I don't have the contacts I need to get the weapons and equipment we require, but I know you have people that can get em. The missions are also . . . difficult on my own. I can deal with most of the problems, but the large numbers of ghouls . . . like in the subway. The freak used them to hold me up while he ran. I'll also need you to use your contacts, especially you, Reuters. You've got connections to every lowlife in the greater London area, according to your file. We need weapons, and I need blood."

Reuters nodded, leaning back and kicking his boots onto the table, eyes focused on Ceras. "You pay me, you got yourself a supply sergeant, Miss. Course, I imagine we don't get governmental sanction for all this."

Ceras nodded. "Is that a problem?"

Reuters just grinned.

"And you, Stasi?" Ceras turned to look at the man.

"Well, Hell. Why not? Doin the right thing, even if the government says no. Whadya say guys?"

"Running out of beer money, anyway."

"Yeah yeah, Queen and country and all that Jazz. Can I have an up front on my first paycheck?"

Ceras chuckled.

"Looks like you've got yourself a squad, Sergeant, Sir."

"Seems that way, doesn't it?" she smiled. "Tomorrow gear up and meet me at the old training grounds, MI6 has left em alone."

Standing and spinning on her heel, she moved towards the front.

"Oi, Ceras?" Stasi called out as she pushed the wood paneled door open.

"Yes?"

"In the name of God impure souls. . ." he started.

". . . of the living dead shall be Banished unto Eternal Damnation." She smiled back. "Amen."

As she stepped out into the cool of the night, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if she had received several confused stares from the other patrons of the bar. She paused to inhale deeply, cold air filling her dead lungs, a smile playing across her face, before she made her way deeper into the dark.

Even with Hellsing gone, England still had its Guardians of the night.

Author's Notes:

Well now. A crew assembled. The stage is set. Next chapter, expect to hear from Integra, Walter, and Alucard, and perhaps even the Hanging Judge. And sorry for the amount of time it took for me to churn this out, but I peck away at a number of different stories at all times. That, and I like my works to be fairly well revised when the go out into the world. For the record, I consider a mid sized chapter every 3 weeks or a long chapter every 6 weeks to be a good pace. Maybe even a fast pace. Sorry again. Reviews probably will help me pick up the pace, so feel free to send em my way.

Review Response:

Lady Blackmour: Thanks for the encouragement, it is much appreciated. Particularly the part about London not being a port town; I like my stories to be as accurate as possible when I bother to use real life facts. I used the Port of London website as a reference. Accordingly, it is currently one of the three largest ports in Great Britain, with a capacity of 51 Million Tonnes. But I see how salt might not smell so clear if you were that far upstream; I didn't even realize it was a river based port. I'll revise it next time I go into the chapter. What phrase to use? Wet Air? Damp Air? Go figure. Thanks again, and I hope you'll continue to read and review!

Dark Saber : Thanks, and sorry for the confusion. I may have to move the final chapter off to a one off . . . though I don't really want to.

Otaku-Sarri: Favorites list? Wow . . . thanks a lot. Makes my day to see that I'm on someone's favorites list.

Zachiel: Thanks for taking the time to post such a long review, and to give me the chance to clear up a few things along the lines of how this universe is set. Hellsing doesn't seem to hold fast to any single mythology, so I'm just going to go ahead and pretty much make it up as I go. And since all vampires are dead, they shouldn't be up and about in the first place, so why not a descendent? All this sort of fiction requires one to put reality on hold, so the way I see it, I'm just making you disbelieve a little harder. As for a AxS pairing, it will be a long time in development. I'm not a fan of epiphany romances, so expect gradual character change to hopefully make it a believable ending. I hope you keep reading despite the flaws, and take time to continue to comment as well.

And to anyone else who reviewed and I didn't mention, Thank You.