Needless to say, Ciel was in a rather pleasant mood that day. He had had a fun evening with his spouse the night before and was glad that his attempts at impressing his husband were well-received. The Watchdog's cheerfulness was not lost on his troops, who all had their own assumptions about what happened the night before. Being a group of young men, some of their ideas were a little less than savoury.

"He got laid." Bryce Withers said over breakfast, earning a chuckle from the rest of the group. "Look at him. There is no tension in him whatsoever."

"I've got a lot of tension." his fellow recruit, the rather notoriously "amourous" Gordon Cooksey chimed in. "I love you guys, I love living with all of you, but there is no time or place to jerk off around here!"

That got even more nods and utterances of agreement. There was a serious bond of brotherhood between the men. They laughed together, lived together, and were willing to fight together, but in the end, that bond only went so deep. There were certain things, that no matter how comfortable they got with their fellow recruits, that they would never be willing to do.

"But seriously, it's so obvious that he got some." Cooksey continued. "Got some… ass..."

"His husband is pretty manly too, though, even though he's got that face of his." reminded Private Clancy Peterson, the only gay in the platoon. "So we don't really know that."

"What do you mean?" Gordon confusedly inquired.

"If you're having sex with a dude and you're not getting ass, what are you getting?" Bryce rephrased things so that he could understand. One could see the gears turning in Private Cooksey's mind before eventually, a look of realisation graced his face.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "No. No way. A man like Sir Phantomhive? There's no way in hell. He's obviously 'the man.'"

"But they're both men?" Peterson asked, moreso to help Gordon recall that detail. All the while, he tried his best not to roll his eyes."

"Nah, he's 'the man.' You're gay, so you should know this. He's 'the man' in the relationship, you know?"

"Are you saying that he can't be fucked because of how masculine he is?"

"Well, yeah? A guy that manly taking it? That just doesn't make no sense! Besides, he's bisexual, too, right? If he were with a woman, he'd be on top, so if his attraction to both is the same, then..." Gordon raised his eyebrows and gestured with his hands for Clancy to fill in the rest as he trailed off, but Clancy, who was the group's "expert" in the field, wasn't convinced.

"That's stupid."

"Well, then how do you figure it out?" asked Private Withers.

"Whichever one wants to do what that particular time and whoever just likes it more?" Peterson did nothing to hide his interpretation of how great the intelligence in the room was. "You know, talk to your partner to know what they like and don't like before starting?"

"Doesn't that kill the mood?" questioned Cooksey.

"If you have to ask that question, Gordon, you're obviously not that skilled and don't get that much."

At that moment, the table burst out into laughter as everyone tuned in to the conversation. None of them knew just how accurate Clancy's statement was and didn't care to find out, but they believed it. Naturally, Mister Cooksey was not pleased.

"Fuck off! I get plenty!" he barked, but "Not-Nice" Bryce had an opening.

"But you still very obviously have no idea how to fuck." Private Withers replied. "Sir Ciel Phantomhive would not do this. Probably fucks like a gentleman."

"Gentlemanly fucker." Nodded Clancy, agreeing with him.

"Gentleman fucker." Jested Bryce in turn. "Make love or go home."

"Sadly, boot camp doesn't cover this, so that leaves the guys who are crap in bed to fend for themselves." the other replied, wiping away a faux-tear. "It's so sad."

"Are you saying that there's nobody here you would do it with?" asked Gordon in an almost accusatory tone.

"After hearing how some of you talk about sex? Probably not."

"What about the 'gentleman fucker?'"

Now Gordon knew that he had gotten somewhere, as Clancy didn't reply right away. Instead he paused, wondering how to best answer this. After all, he had already been accused of exchanging "favours" for better treatment, so this was a difficult path to tread.

"He's married." was all Clancy said, but everyone already knew what he meant by that.

"I dunno..." Bryce said before the resulting laughter could get too loud. "I've always imagined him as this 'James Bond' type. Sure he's married, but I don't doubt blokes and birds at least try to get with him all the time."

"Is there something you're trying to tell us, Bryce?" chimed in Private Joseph Kidman, now joining in the conversation.

"He's a good-looking, very suave guy. You don't have to want him sexually in order to see that."

"Sure..." Despite Bryce's insistence, Kidman was not convinced.

"You know what the statue of David looks like, right?" Private Withers began to explain.

"Yeah?"

"It's a good-looking statue, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to fuck it?"

"No."

"Exactly." With that, Private Withers continued to eat his eggs.

The conversation caused much confusion for the bluenette later on, as he was trying to give a lecture on standard bureaucratic procedure and occasionally heard giggling when his back was turned. As per usual, there was a lecture after breakfast, usually about procedure, technique, and possible targets. Sometimes, they would cover equipment, which was especially fun for some, while others were all about the supernaturals. That day, however, the group had honed in on one supernatural in particular and made various speculations about him.

It was only natural, as they were only aware of bits and pieces of Sir Phantomhive's personal life, while the rest remained a mystery. They knew he had a husband who he cared deeply for and they knew he had a traumatic past. They also knew that his cousin was a high-ranking official of the HELLSING organisation. He was obviously a very powerful man in more ways than one. But, they didn't get to socialise with him like they could with each other, so it left a lot about him unsaid and unknown. So, during many moments of free time and unfortunately, during that class, they speculated as to what their instructor was like outside of work.

"He probably goes to the gym." whispered Kidman. "But when does he have the time?"

"He's rich, right? So maybe it's a home gym?" suggested Jason Choi, matching his volume. "That way, he could just go when he gets home."

"Oh, yeah..."

"Do you think he ever has a pint at a pub?" asked Wallace Young.

"Nah, he seems like more of a scotch kind of man." replied Gordon Cooksey. "Though I don't know if he's the kind to go out. I always imagined him staying in his manorhouse by the fireplace."

"I'm not much of a drinker in the first place, actually." Ciel said without turning around. He didn't need to in order to know that everyone in the room had frozen in that moment. "I can hear you, you know. If you don't want to listen to the lecture, I can always beast you."

"Sorry, sir…" Wallace apologised, followed by the others. "We just wanna know what you're like off the base."

"Ordinary." was all the bluenette said, but that only made the lads more curious. "Now can I get on with my lecture? All of you do realise now that our remaining time together is short and I only have a few weeks to make sure you don't die in your first mission, right?"

"We know! It's just- We've known you for over two months and we still don't know hardly anything about you?" Gordon said. "We know everybody here but you, basically."

"I am concerned for your safety and that is really all that you need to know." the demon replied.

"Bullshit! We're not buying that." Private Cookset replied. "There's all kinds of stuff we wanna know about you!"

"Yeah, for once, I sort of have to agree with Cooksey." spoke the rather serious Private Solomon Danlaw. "You're the one who we're supposed to look up to and trust. It's only natural that we would like to know more. If we must follow your example, then we need more examples to follow."

A few of the other men flashed Danlaw a thumbs-up, like it was a very good excuse, but in reality, the recruit had a point. It was enough of one for the Phantomhive to stop and dwell on before eventually, he sighed and put the cap back on his dry-erase marker and turned around. Folding his arms, he faced the group with a question of his own.

"What all do you need to know?" he asked.

"Why don't you drink much?" spouted Gordon. "Is it because you're morally upstanding or whatever?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Demons just can't get drunk, so there's no point. I only like wine because it doesn't taste terrible." Ciel bluntly stated. "Next."

"Do you go to the gym or do you have one at home?" asked Wallace, dutifully raising his hand.

"No, and no. I'm a demon, so I don't have to exercise to stay in shape. I do have to practise, however, so I do spar regularly and practise my sharpshooting."

"What do you do when you're not being a badass soldier?" asked Private Carl Henderson, raising his hand as well.

"Work from home on my personal business, hang out with my spouse. Sometimes I play games if I'm bored."

Suddenly, the room lit up, as if none of them were expecting this. They didn't know that he owned a company that had it's fingers in everything from toys to cosmetics and rainwear. Videogames was merely a subset of that. Though in truth, he always liked games, so when this form of them began, he was keen to try it. Ciel Phantomhive had lost vast quantities of money at arcades when they were invented.

"What games to you play?" enthusiastically inquired Private Maddigan, followed by Private Henderson asking:

"What's your favourite?"

"My husband and I are really into the Metal Gear series, though I also like survival horror games. He likes The Legend of Zelda more and games like that more, though, so we don't play together a lot."

"Any Call of Duty?" inquired Private Henderson.

"No. Call of Duty is just ridiculous. If you copy the shooter style of that game, you're guaranteed to die first thing on a real mission." Ciel said rather sternly, folding his arms across his chest and putting his nose just slightly higher into the air. "You can't just run around and hope you hit something, and going in out of formation is quite frankly, idiotic for a regular soldier like any of you. I can take bullets and fangs. You can't. It's just like in the labyrinth exercise. How many of you wanted to just break out of formation and run for it?"

"We know better, now..." replied Solomon Danlaw with a sigh. He shook his head, recalling how poorly he did as a leader on their first run-through of the exercise.

"I should hope so! I don't want to be checking your status after you leave here and finding out that you've bit the dust for such a stupid reason!"

Somehow, a simple question on videogame preferences turned into a full-blown lecture on military tactics. It was interesting to the recruits, naturally, but at the same time, it wasn't what they had hoped for. Still, the Phantomhive seemed rather enthusiastic, which was something. It also seemed that they figured out a little about the man's style of play when it came to games. It would appear that Ciel liked strategy and stealth, which was perfectly sensible, given the fact that that is what worked in his real life experience. However, the group couldn't think that the demon had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about this game, but chose not to comment on it for their own safety.

The demon carried on until the end of class, only to be surprised in the end that he had run out of time. Somewhat embarrassed, he turned back around to erase the board before dismissing the group. Yet, in the end, he somehow gained a bit in personability.

"So in the end, I guess the boss really is one of us, then." Bryce stated as the group walked to lunch. "He's just a way more hardcore geek. A military geek."

"A geek when it comes to killing people. That's pretty scary." Kidman replied. "That's probably why he's so good at his job, though, huh?"

"Yeah. At least he knows a lot and is willing to teach it to us." said Wallace. "I'm actually very interested in it, too. If we can learn his knowledge and skills, then in theory, we should be great soldiers, too."

"We're still human, though, so we'll probably never reach his level of badassery." Bryce answered.

"There are ways to get around that." Private Young said, only to receive several punches to the arms and back.

"Shut up! Don't be stupid! You know how pissed off he'd be if he heard you!" Kidman scolded him, reminding him that there were consequences. "You'd definitely get in some kind of trouble for it!"

"Would we, though?" asked Private Henderson, causing them all to look over their shoulders at him. "We know that HELLSING employs supernaturals, so wouldn't it just make us more useful? From the looks of it, it's the difference between being 'level one' and level 'one-hundred.'"

"You're fucking crazy if you think that's a good idea." Bryce accused. "Why would you wanna change yourself on purpose just so you can do a few more tricks? There's a shit-ton of drawbacks!"

"Like what? Being stronger, faster, and tougher than a normal person? Who cares if I turn into a wolfman or can only drink blood? It would still be better than being ordinary."

"You're freaking me out, mate..." Wallace replied, his tone uneasy. "I was only speculating. I wasn't serious. That's way too far."

"For you." Carl said before pointing to himself with his thumb. "All I know is that if I ever get bitten, I'm gonna make sure I don't die."

"I feel like we oughtta report this..." Clancy whispered, cupping his mouth to block it from Private Henderson's view as he conversed with the others.

"You'll never be a good soldier if all you do is tattletale, Peterson." the other man spoke, raising his volume as he heard his compatriots anyway. "Maybe focus on your technique instead of kissing ass."

"Says you, who's shit at shooting and shit at hand-to-hand." retorted Peterson, having lost most of his fear of Carl as time passed, although the fear still lingered quite a bit, since the man was clearly unhinged.

Without anything more to say, Carl simply stewed and festered, keeping the remainder of his thoughts to himself. Things most people could only dream off. Thoughts of greed and gain that should not be accomplished by a normal person. Yet, he was not alone. Many of the lads were curious, but the difference between mere curiosity and actually doing something was vast, keeping the all in check.

However, not all people could be so easily sedated. One such man was arranging a meeting elsewhere in order to get one step closer to his own selfish desires. Somewhere in London, there was a large apartment that was gaudily decorated and a man that was eagerly awaiting the arrival of an important guest. He sat in a chair across from an empty one, holding a photograph in his hands.

Gazing upon the picture of his family, he smiled, but not due to sentimentality. No, he smiled due to his own wicked thoughts. Then, he was pulled from his thoughts and forced to look up toward the door as it was opened by his eldest son, allowing a rather peculiar and menacing person to step through.

"Ah, you must be here to represent the-" Ian Pomeroy began to speak, standing up to greet his guest, but the other merely held up a hand to shoosh him.

"This is the second failure from your family in a very short while, Mister Pomeroy." they said. "First, you fail to get the Trancy Estate, and now this? Your niece was extremely valuable to us. Yet, you allow her to die. Now, you have the nerve to arrange a meeting in a feeble attempt to smooth things over? You have a lot of explaining to do."

"Ah… Well..." Ian began, sweat collecting at his brow as he sat down again. "You see… Miley's death wasn't really our fault. She was killed by some kind of hitman and we don't know who he is or how he's doing it."

"This doesn't concern us." his guest replied.

"Well… What I wanted to inform you was to not worry about it! You see, I still have a daughter, so if your employer approves, she should make a decent replacement." Nervously, the Pomeroy held out the photo in his hand for the other to take and upon doing so, his guest looked at it and frowned deeper.

"I can't tell you anything right now. I'll have to see if my lord accepts this. If he considers it, you know he's going to want to see her, right?"

"Right."

"And you also realise that you are not the only candidate, right? In addition, you have also failed us before. The Society doesn't have a place to actually meet because you failed to secure the Trancy Estate."

"What if I find a place?" Ian inquired. "Between that and all the other work I do, my failure to success rate is fairly low. I'm the one supplying people to the others, while the others keep failing more than I do? That doesn't seem hardly fair..."

"It isn't up to me in the end and in truth, if it were, I probably wouldn't pick you just for talking back to me."

"Sorry..."

"I will pass on your ideas, however, and be back sometime with my master's opinions and thoughts." the guest said before pausing. "If you do intend on keeping true to your promises, it might be wise to make an effort to start looking for a location, though. Other than that, keep doing as you're told and everything will turn out fine in the end."

"But what about the deal?" Pomeroy questioned. "If I do all of this, how will I know I'll get my reward?"

"Ah, yes… All of you are after the same thing, isn't it? That is the nature of this little 'club' we have, isn't it?"

"I couldn't give less of a shit about that paranormal, 'immortality' mumbo jumbo that everybody else is after. As long as they keep asking for 'test subjects,' I'll keep supplyin' 'em. What I want is my title back. I should be an Earl, you know! All I want is my birthright given back to me!"

"Tired of being a lowlife outside of the circle, huh? You'd much rather be a lowlife inside of it?"

"Respect and status come with a title. Just because I traffic a few people and smuggle a few things, doesn't mean that I want to be looked down on. All rich people are just like me, but because I don't have a title, I'm nothin' to 'em."

"Most rich people aren't involved in human trafficking, you forget."

"Aren't they?" Mister Pomeroy questioned. "A lot of them are Johns! They buy my girls and sometimes boys just like any other customer and some do it pretty frequently. They're the ones demanding so I keep up with supply. You can't have one or the other by themselves. Even now, in your group, a lot of its members are buying from me for their little experiments with living forever! In a way, it's even worse, since they aren't just renting. They buy them for a larger price and I don't see the merchandise ever again. So when they call me up needing more, I have to go get it. Isn't that pretty scummy of them?"

"You're both scum. Quite frankly, you disgust me."

"Then what exactly are you here for, Mister Beattie?" Ian questioned. "You don't just join this bunch on accident."

To that, the other man paused, but then allowed a smile to appear on his long face. It was not friendly, however. In fact, there was nothing friendly about this man in terms of looks. He was a scary looking fellow in a black two-piece suit, wearing a dark green turtleneck underneath. The area around his reddened eyes was dark, as though it was sunken in slightly, and his short, black, hair was greasy as it sat flatly against his head.

"I have my own reasons." Mister Beattie replied. "I don't need a title or immortality, but I do have my own wants that are pretty selfish. To be honest, I don't like you. I don't like any of you, really. You all disgust me. It's just a stepping stone to get what I want, though, so I put up with it."

"That's pretty harsh." chuckled Ian with a slight smile.

"Selling human beings is pretty cruel, too. I'll pass it on, though."

"Thank you."

"I can't leave yet, though. My masters have something they need of you." the guest replied, reaching into his breast pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper before handing it over to Pomeroy. "You do smuggling as well, right? I need you to get something from the mainland here. The details are all there. Memorise it and burn it."

Pausing, Ian stared at the paper while as he debated whether or not he could feasibly do as he was asked. "Yeah. I can do this pretty easily. My boys will have it to you lot right away."

"My master thanks you. You will be compensated if successful."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then if your little assassin problem doesn't get to you first, then I will." With that, Mister Beattie opened up his blazer to reveal a rather peculiarly shaped holster with the shiny handle of a gun peeking out. "We can't have you failing us too many times, now."

"Un-understood..." the Pomeroy replied, his bravado fading fast. Mister Beattie had bluntly stated how he felt about Ian, so it was apparent to the Pomeroy just how easy it would be for him to kill him.

"Good. I'll go and get things settled on my end. Just be sure to do the same on yours." With that, the guest invited himself out, leaving the way he came. "Goodbye, Mister Pomeroy."

"Yeah… See you..."

With that, Mister Beattie left the building and walked out on the street, now with his coat on. It was nighttime, now, but there were still people out and about. The street was well lit with lamps and signs, creating a certain atmosphere that couldn't be found anywhere but a city. He was surrounded by people but all alone with nothing but his next destination in mind to keep him company.

Coming across the first phonebooth he found, he patiently waited for the person inside to leave before opening the door and stepping in, himself. Putting a few coins in the machine, he placed it up to his ear and dialed. He listened for the dial tone and spoke only when he heard the person on the end pick up.

"It's done." he informed. "I'll give you his full response when I get back. I'm going to go to my next stop first."

After a moment of pause, the person on the other end hung up, causing the line to go dead. The man knew that his message was received, however, and carried about his business. He took shortcuts, avoiding street cameras where he could and being sure that he wasn't followed. Not once did he call a cab. Instead, he walked the entire way there. It took him around thirty minutes, but he eventually managed to reach a separate upscale apartment complex and took a moment to compose himself before pressing the buzzer.

"Yes?" called a tired-sounding voice. "Don't you know what time it is?"

"I'm here to speak with Miss Pendergraft." the man said. "Tell her that it's Johnathan Beattie."


A/N: I've been updating faster, and honestly? I don't like it as much. I want the big long chapters every time. It just feels better. But, this is all this chapter needed to say, so I'll end it here. I'm still kind of testing the waters and figuring out plot stuff, so if you could tell me how that's going, that would help me out a lot, actually! I have no idea if this is interesting at all.

Also, I got a pretty important question, so I'll answer that before we part for the time being!

" Also, I have a question : I searched for the word "scoundrel", then "Patron Saint of Scoundrels" but I only found that it (obviously) had to do with the religion, and I don't really understand what it is, so could you explain it, please ?" by Kinja145

It's kind of a weird concept, really. A "scoundrel" is somebody who is villainous, dishonest, nasty, or a general good-for-nothing rascal. There's sort of an implied griminess to it, though. Instead of a full-on villain, you're just a lowlife rogue. There might even be a hint of classism to that, which is why Alois is using it that way on purpose. It's because he is referring to people who are often in positions of poverty or are just merely impoverished as their only so-called "crime". He's referring to people who are sort of villainised. In the previous chapter, he was talking about how there are certain classes of people who society deems "okay" to use as punching bags, with the justification that they are in those positions in the first place because of some kind of moral failing. The treatment is "justified" because they are "scoundrels." He's using the word with a touch of irony, and the rest is simply that "Well, this is how the world sees us and knows us." He's talking about orphans, he's talking about prostitutes, he's talking about the homeless, the poor, the disabled, slaves- he's talking about anybody who is considered sort of "less than a person" and therefore "expendable."

Now, Saints are religious figures. Oftentimes, they're people who were just so holy that they were blessed with miraculous powers or just given a sainthood because they did a lot of good shit for society. Patron Saints are another type of Saint. They are protectors or overseers of a certain thing, person, place, craft, anything, really. They don't always interfere with things directly, but can be prayed to so they will advocate on your behalf. So when Alois refers to himself as "The Patron Saint of Scoundrels," he's calling himself their protector and saying that even if he can't physically be there at all times, he'll advocate for them. He can literally do that with the power and connections he now has.

Other layers of this are the obvious "He's not a divine being" thing. He's a demon, so there's no way that he can act as an actual Saint, Patron or otherwise. He's basically the opposite. Then there's the fact that Patron Saints aren't a Protestant thing. Elizabeth is a Protestant and HELLSING began as a specifically Protestant organisation. Patron Saints appear in other religions, but are sort of famously Catholic. HELLSING historically doesn't get along well with the Catholics. Their rival organisation, The Iscariot Organisation, is literally a facet of the Catholic church (Section 13, to be specific). So basically, Alois is going against the flow on basically all fronts, here.

Essentially, he's saying that he's going to advocate for innocent people who society "throws away" and also "fuck you" if you try to stop him.

Does that answer your question? Please tell me if there's still something that isn't clear!

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!