The sun was setting. Agents Timothy Maddigan and Solomon Danlaw were fresh out of training and on their very first mission. Minding the streets seemed straight-forward and uneventful in theory. It was before nightfall, however, so tensions were high. They were accompanied by their respective teams, so they weren't alone, by any means, but it was still frightening. They had guns, they had armoured cars, but they were positioned at the front. According to their former instructor, that was always the worst place to be in war.

They were dutiful, however, and minded the blockade diligently. Everyone there had a silent understanding of the worst-case scenario, but none of them spoke a word of it. Instead, they talked of the most mundane of things. They talked about football and new restaurants they had visited recently. Solomon and Timothy overheard one particularly passionate argument over which cleaning detergents worked best, and while it was not relevant to anything, everyone understood. They knew that there was a very real chance that none of them make it back home tonight. With that fact known, it was essential that all of them forget it immediately, lest they unravel before the fight even begins.

They were minding one of the roads leading up to the palace. So far, they turned away many tourists. Most of them didn't even need talking to before they left, some asked what was going on, only to be given some faceteous excuse as to why they couldn't enter. There were a few people, however, who were belligerent about it, loudly complaining so that the soldiers could hear them, or even stopping to argue with a group of uniformed military-types brandishing machine guns!

"Was that guy seriously going to throw a punch?" Timothy asked, leaning over to talk to Solomon in a hushed tone. "What a fucking moron!"

"Some people are just too stupid for their own good." Agent Danlaw replied. "It's almost like, if they want to go so bad, we should just let them! Natural selection at work."

"Who the hell even wants to go see the palace at night?"

"His accent was American. He probably thought that he could just swing by on his way back to his hotel."

"Drive-thru tour?" Maddigan asked.

"With a large order of fries." joked Solomon, prompting both of them to chuckle.

Things went about the same for a long while, but the closer time became, the more the two began to sense dread creeping in to the whole unit. The more seasoned of the group, however, appeared to be keeping their heads. They appeared to be. No one but them really knew what they were feeling. They did seem to stir, however, when a tour bus slowly pulled up in front of the blockade. Their muscles tensed and they became more alert with their hands on their weapons.

It was one of those red, double-decker buses that all of the tourists wanted to ride in, but it wasn't right. There were things that were "off" about it that immediately had the older soldiers alert, only for the younger ones to follow as soon as the gears started turning. It wasn't a model that seemed "typical" around the city. It seemed older and the windows were tinted. A few HELLSING agents raised their guns.

"What's going on?" called a voice from inside the bus. A head poked out of the driver's side window in order to talk to the soldiers. The driver was wearing a uniform and looked human enough, but it was still partially daylight out, so that didn't mean much. "Did something happen up ahead?"

"No tours are allowed to run to the palace today." answered one of the soldiers- a man who had been designated as the one to talk to tourists for the day. "Official business. You need to turn around and leave."

"Oh, sorry!" the bus driver replied. "Will do. Have a nice night."

As the bus began to reposition itself to turn around, Solomon looked away from it for a moment. Instead, he saw some of his more experienced compatriots tighten their grip on their weapons. Some of them even raised them, prompting others to follow suit. Solomon raised his gun, too, taking aim at the strange bus. He thought something was strange about it, but like the others who were newer to the way things worked around here, he didn't want to be wrong. He knew about this fear, too, and in his mind, he imagined Sir Phantomhive yelling at him to trust is instincts and pay attention.

"What in blazes are you doing?!" he thought in Ciel's voice. "There is no time to worry about politeness when the other person wants to kill you!"

With that, Solomon was ready to fight, although with understandable, and in fact rather typical, reluctance. It wasn't strange that he didn't want to fight. Most people don't. He was average. Yet, he also knew that if this was a threat, he needed to stay alert in order to keep himself safe.

The bus finally got itself turned sideways so that it could turn around, but that is when the troops got the most nervous. Slowly, the tires turned in order to change direction, but at that moment, the windows of the bus began opening. That was when soldiers began ducking down behind the barricades they had made. Solomon heard shouting, although he couldn't make out the words. As soon as the movement of his comrades registered in his mind, he turned to the side and shoved Timothy Maddigan to the ground. Soon after, he followed, just as the sound of gunfire pierced the air.

It went on for a while. Looking up and behind him, agent Danlaw could see his comrades firing back. He didn't dare look at the bus, however. He didn't want to stick his head up high enough for the attackers to shoot him, but he knew that he would have to in order to return fire. All of that determination he felt to fight for his life at any cost had vanished in an instant.

What happened to it? What happened to his determination? His will to live? His comradery? His team was now fighting on his behalf. Was he not going to return the favor to them? What kind of a man was he? He didn't know, but he knew that it wasn't the kind of man that he wanted to be.

His father was a military man as well. He was told stories about brave exploits and hijinks amoung lifelong friends. He didn't know how many of those stories were actually true, but he wanted them to be. He wanted to make them true, at the very least. That ideal man, who was strong, brave, and honourable; who always fought valiantly and fought to defend his home, his people, and everything he believed in. That is the sort of decisiveness and integrity that Solomon always idealised and wanted for himself. Yet, the only version of himself he could see now was a coward. At the first sign of combat, he lost his head and couldn't keep his wits. Even in practise at bootcamp, Danlaw kicked himself for failing to take control in the maze simulation, regretfully allowing the duty to fall on the shoulders of Private Withers. How absolutely humiliating.

Perhaps it was too much to expect from someone on their first mission. There was no shame in it. It happened to the best of soldiers when they were new. As long as Solomon came back alive, he would be able to try again. If he didn't, well, then that's that. The same went for any other operative in the same boat.

Solomon looked over at Timothy, wondering if they were comrades in that aspect as well. To his surprise, he actually saw the other man sticking his gun over the barricade, although while holding it incorrectly as to not get hit. He shot back at the Philosophers with a frantic, wide-eyed look on his face. His brows were furrowed and he bared his teeth, trying to look vicious, but still looking absolutely afraid. Still, it was better than what Solomon was doing and Agent Danlaw accepted that.

"They're opening the door!" shouted someone high up in the chain of command. Solomon couldn't tell who. The voice was muffled by the sound of combat. "We've been given the okay to fall back! Hurry! We have to make it to Blockade C!"

Suddenly, everyone started running, abandoning the safety of the barricades. Some of them ran outright, while some walked backwards, still returning fire. Some managed to get into vehicles while other simply abandoned them.

"Come on!" Solomon shouted to Timothy, coaxing him to give up shooting in order to run. Both of them scrambled to their feet and took off. They ran in zig-zags, hoping to avoid being hit. It wasn't much of a strategy, but it was the one they had. Their minds were propelling them forward while running on nothing but adrenaline, so thinking logically was simply beyond their capabilities at that exact moment.

Briefly, Solomon gained the courage to look back over his shoulder. The shorter Timothy Maddigan was having trouble keeping up with Solomon's longer legs, but he wasn't left behind. Past Maddigan, Solomon could see several figures exit the bus. They looked human, but he knew better. He didn't know what they were, but he knew better. He also knew that they ran very, very fast.

Leaping over the next barrier at Blockade C, he rolled for a bit as Maddigan did the same, scuffing his knees a bit. The cold air stabbed at their lungs and scraped at the lining of their throats as they desperately sucked in air. As soon as the last of HELLSING's agents were out of the way, everyone began firing. Bullets whizzed past Solomon, but he found that they were all coming from one side. The Philosophers were running, not shooting, which emboldened him. Knowing now that he wouldn't be hit, he stuck his head and his rifle out from over the barrier he was hiding behind and took aim. It was difficult in the dark and his heart was racing frantically, but he did his best to make a steady shot

Then, as he pulled the trigger, the Philosopher's capes fluttered. The attackers pulled shields out from underneath the capes, untying and unlatching them from their backs. Bullets began ricocheting off of them as the gap between the two parties continuously closed. Eyes widening, Solomon ducked back down.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't fight back at all. He was frozen. All he could do was cover his ears with his palms and scrunch his eyes shut as his fellow devil dog tried to shake him back to his senses.

"Snap out of it, Solomon!" Maddigan shouted over gunfire. "They're almost here! Do you wanna fucking die?!Kill your panic!"

The whites of Timothy's eyes were visible as he looked to Danlaw with a frantic, crazed expression. He wasn't really even focusing on the man. His ability to see fine detail left him a while ago as his fight or flight impulses kicked in. His heartrate quickened, he desperately began to suck air into his lungs, his fingers became numb and his perception of colour and movement became more vivid. The same was happening to Solomon Danlaw, only he was exhibiting another behaviour. Most people are aware that one will instinctively "fight" or take "flight" when in danger, but that completely overlooked the third action that was extremely common and extremely under-reported: "Freeze."

Danlaw couldn't move. He couldn't stand. He could barely sit. This was too much. It was all way too much! Between the gunshots, Timothy shaking him, and the knowledge of what was to come, it was simply too much for the man to bear, so he froze and did nothing.

Timothy, however, continued to show. He raised an open hand and brought it down hard on Solomon's cheek, trying desperately to snap him back to his senses so that they could both survive the battle. "Danlaw!" he screamed. "Danlaw! Get a hold of yourself!"

Soon, however, Maddigan was left with no other option but to give up and fend for himself. Picking up his rifle again, he aimed it over the barrier, trying his best to still his breath and hit his rapidly approaching target. The Philosophers grew closer and closer, growling and snarling like wild animals, held back only by the last sliver of sunlight that remained. Once that was gone, however, and all who were beneath that blackened sky overhead were enveloped in night, the wolves arrived. Suddenly, Solomon couldn't hear Maddigan firing off any more rounds.

Hesitantly, agent Danlaw cracked open an eye in order to survey his surroundings a bit. Looking up, he saw Timothy Maddigan, his fellow devildog, standing on his knees as his weapon was aimed over the barrier. Everything moved in slowmotion as Danlaw examined his friend, spotting a puddle of red liquid pooling around Timothy's knees as it poured down from his neck. Maddigan's entire front was covered with the stuff. His face was vacant, with a confused furrow of his eyebrows and a slight openness to his mouth as he failed to notice the big, gaping, slash marks across his throat. He tried to speak. He tried to ask Agent Danlaw what had happened, but only the sound of gurgling came out with a violent splatter of blood spurting from his wounds. His grip on his weapon laxed and he began to stagger backwards, turning his body to face his comrade in search of an explanation. While he could not speak, his lips clearly moved, mouthing the words: "What happened?"

Agent Timothy Maddigan fell and landed on his back, reaching up in search of the source of the wetness he suddenly felt traveling down his chest. He touched the four slash marks that covered his neck and pulled his hand away, examining the blood that coated his fingertips. "Wha-?"

"Tim!" Solomon shouted, lunging forward in order to tend to his comrade. His eyes were so trained on Maddigan that he almost didn't notice the figure looming over them. His eyes scanned upwards, and he spotted a cape fluttering in the breeze.

The figure wore baggy clothes that didn't even pretend to fit her. In one hand, she held a bullet-proof shield, while she flexed the other, spreading her clawed fingers as Maddigan's blood dripped from them. Her back was to them at first, but slowly, she turned. The Philosopher's breath came out in thick steam through her bared, misshapen teeth. Some were pointed and most were crooked. Some looked human, while the rest looked like they belonged to an animal. They looked too small for her mouth, but so did the other bones in her face as they jutted out, stretching the skin that covered them as far as it could go without tearing. She growled.

Her ears slowly became pointed and the hair on the sides of her face grew denser and thicker, as did her eyebrows. It all spread as it continued to try and take over her face. It would take longer still, as her nose and jaw elongated. Her arms and legs did too, creating grotesque popping and cracking sounds as she filled out her clothes. She hunched over, letting out a roar at the two soldiers while throwing her shield to the side. Suddenly, a thought came into Solomon's head.

He imagined the lecture hall at bootcamp where everyone learned about all of the supernatural beings they may encounter and how to kill him. He imagined the agents as privates; Braumfield writing down ideas for weapon designs, Peterson staring up at the commanding officer, hanging onto every word, and Henderson staring blankly off into space because he thought he knew everything. He imagined Maddigan sitting in the seat in front of him to his right, jotting down his famously meticulous notes. All of it was in a flash, but what he did remember most vividly, as if it were being spoken to him right at that very moment, was Sir Phantomhive giving a lecture on werewolves in the back of his head.

"Werewolves are the fastest of the common supernaturals you are likely to encounter." the bluenette's voice reminded Solomon. "You don't ever want to be close to one on the wrong side. Once that happens, you are dead."

Solomon stared up at the wolfwoman with wide, fear-stricken eyes. Slowly, he inched his hand toward the knife on his hip. His former commanding officer's words still echoed clearly.

"You never want to have to use your knife," it said, "because if whatever it is that you're trying to kill is close enough to stab, it's close enough to kill you, too."

Agent Danlaw gripped the handle of the weapon tightly. His knuckles paled. He couldn't hear Timothy trying to breathe anymore. He couldn't even hear the werewolf growl. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing. In an instant, he raised his knife as he saw the werewolf move toward him, brandishing it while she bared her fangs. Danlaw brought the knife downwards into her fur just as her jaws closed around his neck. He dropped his knife.

The werewolf whipped her head from side to side, thrashing the HELLSING operative around like a ragdoll before letting him go. He soared high into the air before landing on the concrete street with a harsh thud. The sound returned to his ears.

Gunfire popped off erratically while joined in by the howling and growling of wolves. The voices of humans were audible as well. They were screaming. His comrades were screaming.

"Oh, God! What are they?!" a voice called out.

"Werewolves! They're werewol-" That voice was cut off and replaced with a choking sound.

"Why did they come in the daytime?!" yet another cried. "Why did they come so soon?!"

"Because of what you're doing right now." said Jim Phantomhive, staring at the radio.

He could hear the screams of the soldiers through the device. He knew what was coming, even from his position at the palace. Everyone knew. They all knew what was coming.

"Sir?" questioned one of the soldiers next to him, listening in to the status of the blockade groups as well. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever seen a werewolf transform?" the menace questioned. "It's scary stuff. That's the point, though. They waited so that everyone could see them transform in order to whip them up into a panic. It's psychological warfare, but with supernaturals."

Sighing, he looked out the window and squinted. "They're coming soon." he continued. "Personally, I would have attacked sooner and threw off the Grenadiers instead. They kind of wasted the opportunity."

"What are they like?" asked another soldier. His uniform was different, however. His beret was green and he wore an actual, full uniform, indicating that he was a member of the regular armed services. The patch on his shoulder indicated that he was a Grenadier. He wasn't wearing the ceremonial red tunic or bear skin hat, but he was one of the ones who gaurded the palace, for certain. That said, it also meant that he had no experience in this field.

"You were briefed, right?" Alois asked.

"Yeah, but… It's still a lot to wrap my head around..." the Grenadier stated.

"They're big. Fast, too. They're not the only ones who we'll be fighting, but they're the ones who are probably going to close the gap between our forces and theirs, first. We don't want any of them to get close. Just stay calm, keep the bullets raining, keep the grenades flying, and keep the other guys as far away as possible, and we should be good."

"What if they do get close?"

"Do your best to dissuade them from killing you. With bullets. In their face. Other than that, I dunno what to tell you. Fight the good fight and all that." The demon pat the soldier on the shoulder and left him to head to his own post. The blockades weren't going to hold for much longer.

That soldier didn't know what was going to be unleashed upon him and his own comrades. He didn't understand. Alois knew that, but he didn't talk it up. Part of him felt bad. It felt like he hadn't adequately prepared that man. Yet, he also didn't want the man to panic. He didn't want anyone to panic. Including himself. In his possession, he still held onto the yew wood sword. He couldn't sense Ciel anywhere. They were running out of time. No, there simply wasn't any time left at all. He wouldn't wait for Ciel. He wouldn't worry about him, either. Quietly, he accepted the fact that his actions in this battle mattered. Just like always, he would give everything he had.

The halls of Buckingham Palace were crawling with soldiers. The menace had been here once before, but not like this. The building and all that was inside of it was beautiful as always, polished, refined, and gilded in all things fine. It surpassed his wildest dreams at the time when he was an Earl. A common boy, a slave, in a palace dripping in gold by deceit. It stung him. The eyes of every statue, every painting, every ornament, and servant pierced him like a thousand daggers as they looked down on him, judging him for his many lies.

He was an honest man, now, yet the eyes still stung. His presence felt unpermissable, despite him receiving direct orders from her majesty's finest. The feeling of falsehood clung to him with a deathgrip and refused to let go. He was not a highly trained soldier. He was not a noble. He was just an ordinary commoner with an odd accent. No, it was worse than that. He was a scoundrel. He was less than dirt. Yet, here he was, expected to carry the night like some hero in armour polished so brightly that it shined the sun through the bleakest hour.

The soldiers crawling around the place made it feel right. Something was wrong and it wasn't him. It wasn't him. It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

Stopping in his tracks, he heard something very faint. Gunshots. They were getting closer. The operatives around the palace would be coming into contact with the Philosophers at any moment, now, if they hadn't already. Alois looked to his side and stared out the window. Ah. They were closing in.

The Philosophers were visible from the palace. All blockades had been broken through or made a strategic retreat. England's forces were firing at the invaders at the gates. They rained down bullets and shot them across the concrete. They continued to bounce off of bulletproof shields and homemade armour. The Philosophers shot back, unperturbed when their comrades fell. One shot rang true and struck a werewolf clear between the eyes, causing it to collapse in a lifeless heap. The others simply stepped over them and kept on marching.

Some of them carried flags with various symbols on them. Some bore coat of arms of the families that were fighting. Some of them were covens that the Philosophers picked up. Alois could see one flag with a logo resembling that of the Scarlet Order's on it. In fact, quite a few of them in front appeared to be groups from Gehenna.

"So that's it." Alois noted, putting the pieces together. He had already assumed that this was going to be the case, so he wasn't terrible surprised.

The groups from Gehenna were taken in only recently, so it was unlikely that they received much training. How cruel. They gathered up these dejected youths and put them on the front lines. They were canon fodder. They were only there to take the brunt of the attack so that better trained and more important groups could advance. Jim saw a fifteen-year-old catch a grenade with their face. He turned away, hearing an explosion.

The fear and thrill of battle hung in the air on the ground below. Adrenaline coursed through the veins and brains of all who were there. Finally, this was it. All of the anger at the world that these supernaturals were born into was out in the open. The unfairness they saw. The dissatisfaction with the status quo. All of it. Some were angry at the loss of their homeland due to human development. They howled out into the freezing air, only to be drowned out by the booming sound of gunfire. One shot a HELLSING soldier in the kneecap while another pounced and tore out the victim's throat. Some were not content with the fact that they had to hide themselves from the world and how difficult it made living. One had a bullet pass through their eye and out the other side while another one fired their gun with tears streaming down their face. Some thought that being supernatural would solve all of the problems they had in their ordinary human lives, only to find that they were still unhappy and still as powerless as they were before. One laid lifelessly on the ground while her beloved cradled her and begged her to stand back up.

They gnashed their teeth and when they were close, they tore flesh and fat from the bones of their enemy. They sliced open the bellies of mercenaries. They impaled soldiers on the ends of spears and spikes. They were whipped up into a frenzy and nothing but death or defeat could stop them now. Soon, they were climbing the walls and trying to force the front gate open. Those inside shot them down whenever possible.

With their combined strength, the gate was open and the horde advanced toward the palace. Both HELLSING and the soldiers at the palace defended it with everything they had. They fired their guns, taking out some of the advancing army while missing others. Some had a hard time aiming through their fear, while others had a hard time seeing through their tears.

Jim stood there, frozen as he looked on. The suffering his comrades endured as they fought through the cold and the terror. This violence was nothing new to Jim. This depravity was nothing. He had seen cruelty, violence, and agony before. He was forged in it. Some of his men were, too. Some weren't. Watching them endure this was too much for him. He wanted to look away. He needed to go. His post was elsewhere. He didn't need to waste time, yet he stared forward, vacantly, without blinking, out into the courtyard. His ears trained on the screaming and shouting as his heart raced in his ears. When did he clench his fist? It was dark outside. Very dark. The lights were off inside. He could see the light of the moon bouncing off of the gold that adorned the palace as it shined through the window, though. It was beautiful. The screams were ugly. Ugly? This place is ugly. Why was he standing there? He needed to go! He needed to hurry! There was no time to worry about them. He needed to worry about himself. Only himself. If he did that, everything would be fine. It would be ugly, but fine. Ugly. Very ugly. Dirty. Very dirty. The smell of iron was seeping into the air. Sickness. He couldn't breathe it in. He needed to go! Right now!

The sound of a grenade went off outside and he turned around. Blinking, he realised he was still in the palace. He was facing the wrong way, though. His destination was in the opposite direction. He knew that. Jim knew that. Yet he didn't know if he could go. Not because he lacked the ability, but because he didn't know if he lacked the morality. His comrades were not helpless. He knew that. But why? Jim wanted to turn back. This was war, he knew. Jim knew that there would be losses. Jim knew that people would suffer. Yet, the menace didn't want to leave them behind. Not again. They were up against a sea of beings that were much bigger and stronger than them. It felt wrong leaving them behind so that he could go off and do his own thing. True, he would be defending the greater good, perhaps, but what about the others? What good did that do them?

What could he do? He was stuck. He didn't want to make the wrong choice. The menace didn't even know if he made the right choice the first time. He was there, but at what cost? It didn't cost him anything, but what of the bodies that he left behind? The bodies that were unearthed at that accursed mansion that served as his own kingdom and his prison? Should he go back? Should he move forward? Jim didn't know what to do! He never knew what to do!

Jim stood still, unsure of which choice to make. None of them seemed like good options. None of them were without faults. If he advanced, he would be able to defend the interior and kill Abhartach when he arrived, but he would be unable to help his comrades. His orders were to wait so that he wouldn't be tired or injured for that battle, but was that worth the cost? Another option was help the soldiers, but in doing so, he may be too injured and too exhausted to fight Abhartach. He could always just stay put right where he was, but then he would achieve neither goal and simply allow everything to be spent.

He didn't want to make the same mistake as an adult that he did as a child, however. In saving himself, it felt like he doomed those boys, even though he knew that he ultimately freed the ones that remained in the end. If he advanced again, would it be the same? Would he able to move on?

Taking a deep breath, he furrowed his brow. Promptly, he turned around again, facing the direction that he was originally going. He would trust in his comrades. He would trust in his superior's orders. He would trust in Ciel's plan. This wasn't like before. Before wasn't like what his guilt was telling him. He was never responsible for their survival. It would be unreasonable to ask that of him. He would take down the monster that threatened these halls so that he could not wreck havoc any longer. That was what he did. With or without Ciel, Abhartach was dying. Jim hoped that he would receive help, but even if he didn't, he was determined to win, regardless. Jim Phantomhive does not give up. HELLSING does not give up. Jim moved onward and prepared to face his opponent with everything he had.


A/N: I have nothing particularly interesting to say about this chapter other than we're here! Finally. At long last. We've started.

It's very late when I'm writing this, so I'm kind of rambly. I'm sorry.

Also, my schedule is bad this semester, so the update schedule is changing to "Whenever it gets done."

God, I'm tired...

Night night

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!