Sleep comes to claim her. A city buried in ocean. Buildings, dirty, sharp, impossibly high jut out of black water. Sunlight touches blackened craters where people viewed the world from lofty heights. She is looking for something, frustrated with a memory that burns out like sun-touched fog. She sees nothing in this green and gray abyss. Filthy water laps the streets at her feet. Disgusted, she reaches to touch her hair pulling chunks from her head. She watches the straw fall from fingers, soaking into the oily water, greening. A high shrill whistle sounds, the all-too-familiar burning begins. The skin on her throat and face quickly twist, lumping into scar tissue. The pain would make her scream, but she is suffocated to silence as she turns, blinded by the sun's glare. It shadows the approaching men. Her back to the black abyss, she is paralyzed but to wait.
Her day begins before sunrise. When the sun makes its lazy appearance, she has tackled a tome detailing redefined organizational boundaries. She signs her name for the 53rd time that day as the family's butler Walter carries away remnants of an English breakfast. "More tea Sir Integra?"
"Please." She doesn't glance from her work, purposeful pen strokes incapacitating the harmless sheets of paper. Not noticing Walter's graceful exit, she does notice when the ink of her pen suddenly spills, leaking onto the precious documents, spraying her suit jacket. "Shit."
Integra removes the ruined coat, her momentum interrupted. She stands, moving to the portrait of her father over the hearth. Posture ramrod straight, she exhales loudly at the thought of Hellsing's empty horizon. She stares at her father's captive gaze. "The Hellsing Organization falling into its own footprints? Is this cause for celebration?"
A knock interrupts her assessment. "Pardon the interruption Sir Integra. It seems you have a caller." Walter eyeballs and removes her discarded jacket with the unmatched alacrity, grace, and precision only a master vampire-hunter-butler can.
"I have no appointments. Who is it?"
"No name I've heard of. " He produces a business card. "The gentleman identified himself as an acquaintance to you. Shall I send him away?"
Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing looks once more to her father. "No."
Her blue gaze snaps to the card as she grasps it in long fingered gloves. "Michard Schrute. No acquaintance I've known. And no employer listed." She grips the card's ivory lines. "Hmm... Show him to the library Walter."
He bows. "As you wish."
Michard Schrute's features melt into his belly. His beard is thick and neatly kept; and he walks with a cane, but almost too impatiently, as though his limp would propel him airborne.
Integra regrets the decision to shake his hand every painful millimeter her body moves in proximity towards his sweaty waiting palm. Michard's hand coats hers in beefy-slickness, and what little hair she has on her arms stands on end. The exchange lasts mere seconds, to Integra, they seem a crystallized eternity, not unlike the passage of her nightmares. Michard's thick lips curl unpleasantly up at the ends, two fat sausages ready to split casings. Integra yanks her hand away wishing for a metal scrub-brush and some lye.
"Mr. Schrute, I presume? What concern have you with our organization?"
"Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms. Hellsing. My name is Michard Schrute." He bows with trouble from hidden abdominals. His words spill out of his mouth like an overfilled sink.
She doesn't motion for him to sit.
He stares at her for uncomfortable seconds with what appears to be appraisal.
Filth. She straightens from a shudder.
Integra Hellsing guts ghouls on a regular basis. She watches the dead reanimate. This ordinary plump man has no business affecting her so, but some base vibration emanating from Michard strikes a sick chord in her.
He smiles, as though he is a friend to her thoughts. "I'm a retainer for a private employer. We are interested in acquisitioning your organization's considerable talents for a few months. We recognize that you are an incredibly busy person, and your duties extend far beyond the private sector. Given the current field situation we thought we could persuade you to consider. My employer, naturally, will compensate you handsomely," he gushes.
Integra raises one eyebrow. Arms crossed in front of her, she faces him square. "What is the nature of the situation? And why did you not take this up through the proper channels?"
"The circumstances while dire, are rather delicate, and I cannot breach the confidence of my employer until proper documentation is drafted. Please consider the offer." He points to the business card in her hand, "call that number, ask for Michard. If we do not hear from you within the next 48 hours, we will be forced to relinquish the offer and seek assistance elsewhere, although we would prefer not to involve Enrico Maxwell."
She grasps the card at the sound of her rival's name. "We'll be in touch."
Michard bows, sputtering out the door.
The lady knight's commanding alto says, "Walter, please look into the name Michard Schrute, report everything you find."
"Right away my lady."
Walter's report in hand, she waits. Like clockwork her world becomes red.
"Good evening Miss Hellsing," from a velvet throat.
"Alucard," she nods toward the tall vampire as he predictably phases in through the wall of the study. He glides away from the wall toward her large desk.
"Your jacket."
She had not bothered to replace the ink-stained jacket. Dressed in an ivory-colored satin blouse, a silver cross pendant divides the two halves of her creamy body. She waves the comment away.
"We were approached today by a representative for a private household. Walter did the research, however we were only able to come up with this-" she holds the business card up to Alucard, waiting for her servant to dutifully remove it from her fingertips. Pausing mid-sentence, eyes glower from under light brows as Alucard remains rooted to the carpet.
"My lost blue." He plucks the card from her waiting palm.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
She blinks, nostrils flared, jaw firm. "Are you acquainted with this person?"
"Michard Schrute," he caresses the card. "No. An unusual name. Shall I dispose of him for you?" He reels to face her. "Grind him to dust? Give me the order, master,"
"No. Hellsing hasn't had opportunity to prove ourselves in the last few weeks. I was beginning to think we'd done our job too well. It may be to our advantage to see what the job entails."
He towers over her. "Are you bored Master?"
He closes the last foot between them. She sets her body into a stern line.
"You are tired Master. Your body complains. Why don't you sleep?"
She snorts. "Since when are you one to care about my well-being servant?"
"Hmm... is that it?" He crouches next to her chair, his face level with her own. A cold hand touches her shoulder, she reflexively cringes. Cheek to cheek, he glides a finger down her throat, tracing the line of her collarbone. Fire laces her veins. Mapping a path to rest on the collared V of her neckline, his hand drops to touch the silver cross adorning her neck. It sizzles.
"Vampire," she warns. She stares at the bridge of his aristocratic nose, his marble-white eyelids, the permanently etched lines at the corners of his mouth. The web of fire pools in her belly, swathing lower. "Alucard!"
He opens his eyes quickly, wide, engulfing her. Pupils dilate, red irises burn, as he drags one finger up the length of her collar to her long throat. She chokes down a sound, willing her eyes open, breath in check; her body yearning to bloom under his touch. His finger caresses her neck, tucking silvery hair behind one ear. "My Integra," he breathes metallically before pulling up to full height.
She releases her breath.
"Go then. Contact them... It pleases me to see you so in command," he laughs melting into shadows.
A crystal ashtray shatters against the tiles where he vanished.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion!"