The bombing had made international news. The target was Big Ben, after all. There was no hiding the fact that there was an explosion. H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. operatives quickly scrambled to erase any evidence of any supernatural occurrences that took place there. There was no Voros. There was no monster. There was no watchdog, lion, or angel, either. It was just a run-of-the-mill terrorist attack. Police released that there were no suspects at the moment, but they were searching extraneously. That was a lie, however. The culprits had already been dealt with- all of them, but one, single, accomplice.

Preston sat in a dull room, chained down and trapped behind a magical barrier put in place by H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G.'s own resident sorcerer. In front of it was a table and a chair, and on the other side of the room was a door locked up tight. There was no doubt that there was a decent amount of guards stationed outside of it.

Once again, the Omid's mind was reeling. He had given himself up, but his fate was still uncertain. He still attacked H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. operatives in his moment of weakness and despair, and he was still worried about his physical condition. He wasn't human anymore. He no longer got the human treatment. Right now, he was a criminal. It would have been easy for H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. to present him as the culprit for the whole fiasco and off him once the finger had been pointed. They probably would have. It was a miracle they didn't. No, it wasn't, really. It was the fact that Preston was friends with a pair of high-ranking officers that saved him and was still holding him afloat even now. The easiest solution would be to kill him and use him as research material. They would have their scapegoat and remove all kinds of problems for the H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. PR department.

Preston had no idea what his fate would entail, but he had been told to have faith in a pair of demons. That was all he had at the moment. How laughable. Faith in a couple of devils is what is going to save him? It wasn't funny even as a joke.

Roughly, the Omid flinched when the door finally swung open. A pair of soldiers ushered in, accompanied by a short man dressed in dark dress pants and a white polo shirt trimmed in maroon on the sleeves with the Hellsing family crest on it. Around his neck was his I.D. badge, but Preston couldn't read the name from where he was sitting. He held a clip board in his hand before he set it down on the table in the room and took a seat. He looked fairly young—very feminine in his features, with short, dark brown hair spiked upwards in the front with gel. The man chewed on the end of his pen as he stared down at the paper in front of him, furrowing his brow. Finally he looked up again and adjusted his thick-framed glasses to sit on his nose better before speaking.

"Hello, Mister Omid." He greeted with a peculiar tone of voice. He did sound young, but not quite. It wasn't the air of maturity with which he spoke, but rather, the tone of the voice itself rather than the manner with which he was speaking. "My name is Roger Whinery. I'm with Human Resources, and it is my job to tell you how exactly things are going to go down."

"Okay?" Preston answered with obvious uncertainty. He hadn't considered that an organization like H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. would need such a thing, but the more he dwelled on it, the more it made sense. It was an organization, after all. It had to have some rules and systems put in place for it to function smoothly and keep their workers happy. That didn't quite quell Preston's unrest, however. Regardless, Roger smiled at him, although it came across as insincere.

"As you know, you are in quite a bit of trouble." Began the other man. "You don't have to worry about being executed or anything, however. You've got some pretty good friends, here." That didn't come as a surprise, although Preston was visibly relieved by the news. As Roger continued, however, he became progressively worried.

"Still, we cannot let you roam free." He bluntly said. "You aren't human anymore, after all, and you're still considered a 'criminal'. Instead, you will be held in the custody of H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G; and work under the command of an officer. Who or what kind depends entirely on wherever you end up being stationed. Most likely, you will be in special ops for a while."

"What?!" the Omid asked, his eyes widening. No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't fight monsters. Were these people insane? He will die! He saw what the agents were up against. "I can't do that! I'll die!"

"You don't have a choice." Roger stated. "Let's get one thing adamantly clear right now: You belong to H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. now. You are not a worker. You have to earn that. For now, you are a prisoner, and you will be expected to make yourself useful."

In that moment, the Omid's stomach dropped. His blood ran cold, and he couldn't feel his arms and legs. That was it? He knew that what he did was wrong, but is this really it? His life was over just like that? He would have to fight monsters, and wouldn't even be treated like a human being, all because he did what he could to survive. Was the choice to become this… thing wrong over dying slowly and all alone? He was suffering as he was. He was in physical and emotional agony, slowly losing his ability to move, and becoming isolated as he was forced to refrain from leaving his home on the basis of illness. Was it wrong for him to want to escape that and still live?

In the eyes of bureaucracy, yes. In the eyes of H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. as a whole, there are only "us" and "them". Occasionally, a supernatural will cross over onto H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G.'s side, but not without a trial period. Loyalty must be proven. There were special cases like in the case of agents Amelie and Charlotte Garou, where the supernaturals pledged allegiance without any sort of confrontation of crime committed. They were accepted with more ease, but alas, that is not how Preston would be treated.

"You will be taken to the basement and housed with the rest of the supernaturals under strict watch for the time being." Roger informed, flipping through pages. "Afterwards, you will start undergoing training, and then be put to work. Wherever you end up is debatable, but again, you'll most likely be put in combat."

"But I-!" Preston jerked forward, causing the man on the other side of the barrier to jump, his eyes widening. The two soldiers with him reached for their guns. Seeing this, Preston relaxed again and adjusted his tone.

"Alright…" he said, despite wanting to protest. He couldn't accept that. He had already been through so much. He wasn't made for violence. It didn't matter. The conversation was over as the other man stood up, adjusting his glasses again.

"Right…" Rodger said, gathering his things. One of the soldiers opened the door. "You'll know all the details soon." He added. With that, he and his guards walked out before two more walked in.

Their uniforms were different, and Preston could tell that they weren't human. One was a busty woman with blonde hair in a red uniform and torn stockings. Her eyes were red and one of her arms seemed to be constructed out of some bizarre black matter. The other woman was much shorter, in fact, she looked almost like a teenager, with silver hair and blue eyes. Preston recognised her from when he attacked the agents. She was one of them.

"Mister Omid." Began the first. "My name is Seras Victoria. This is Amelie Garou. We're here to escort you to your quarters once the wizard who put that barrier up comes to take it down."

"A-alright…" Preston answered, his voice shaking slightly. He sunk down in his seat and tried to blink away the water that was starting to collect in his eyes.

It was over. He was no longer human. He was no longer free.