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Father Matthew Murdock sat in the eternal darkness of his office, allowing the phones to ring. Two of the four uppermost lights were lit but he did not make a move to answer and listen to those who were impatiently waiting on the other ends of the lines. Instead, he sat in the pitch black room, allowing his senses to detect even the minutest changes in sound. The buzz of life swirled around him, even in the ostensible silence of the building, and he smiled, finally relaxed.
At ease, he finally turned his attention towards the incessant phone. His fingers brushed the braille-inscribed buttons and he hovered over them, considering which one to push first, if in fact he decided to listen to either. After a long moment's consideration, he hit the second button.
"Hello," he began in a voice just a shade on the side of cheerful. No matter what manner of tongue lashing there was in store for him, there was never an excuse not to be civil.
"Director Murdock!" A furious English female snapped on the other end of the line. "I must demand that you remove your men at once!"
"I'm afraid that's out of my hands, Sir Integra," he responded calmly. "Besides, they are not interfering with your orders are they?"
"Of course they are! With them around, Alucard cannot do his job so I demand you recall them immediately."
"Alucard cannot do his job?" Maxwell allowed amusement to seep into his voice. "And pray tell, what is his job?"
"That's classified information and you know it," Integra growled, impatient at his unflappability; Maxwell was infinitely easier to deal with - at least she could get a rise out of him. "But I think you can guess."
"I suppose I can; it is an admirable distinction between our organizations, is it not? Your order, I assume - and do, my lord, correct me if I am wrong - was for Alucard to kill. Kill the enemy, kill the attackers, kill, kill, kill." There was silence on the other end of the line. "It is not altogether unlike our European counterparts and their credo. Maxwell would do anything to advance the church's power and, by proxy, his own. Absolute orders given to unquestioning, obedient subordinates who dutifully fulfill them.
"Here however, Sir Integra, I must tell you that we follow a different set of commands. Our goal is not to kill the monster; our goal is to defend humans and particularly the innocent. And we would choose to do this whether or not we were ordered to, Sir Integra.
"Which, you must realize, thus becomes the source of your problem. My men are there not because I demanded they go. Oh, I certainly suggested direction. Do not mistake me. But in the end they are there of their own volition and would not leave now even if I demanded it. They are not dogs to be brought to heel, Sir Integra. They are my men."
Silence settled between them until Integra finally broke it.
"So that's how it is to be between us," she replied.
"Yes."
"And I am guessing that your interference will continue?"
"As long as your actions willfully endanger bystanders, then yes."
"You are aware, Fr. Murdock, of how difficult this decision was to make for me? I do not take such things lightly and certainly do not look to cause civilian casualties."
"I do not presume to know your mind, Sir Integra. I only know what effects your actions produce and what we must do accordingly."
She fell silent and a moment later he heard the distinctive 'click' of a phone being placed down. He replaced his as well and dismissed the final call; Maxwell could wait until Murdock called him.
"Castle?" Frank looked up from the paperwork he was doing. "I'm feeling tense - I think I should like a workout, if you would oblige me."
"Of course sir. I'll have the training room cleared and prepped."
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Integra looked at Walter with a bemused expression.
"To be honest, I don't know whether I should be infuriated or relieved," she told him and left it at that.
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"Keep your focus!" Allerdyce screamed at Remy. They had gotten down moments before Alucard had stalked out; the vampire had tried to plant stakes with impaled bodies on them but Remy had exploded both the stakes and the bodies the minute they'd been thrown out. He had blasted a circumference of dirt away around the Hellsing vampire and his undead opponent and the two Iscariot agents were maintaining a barrier of fire and incense smoke, obscuring the fight from view and blasting with kinetic energy or sheer flames anything that escaped the circle and threatened bystanders.
"Ah'm tryin'!" Remy screamed at him, dashing around, his eyes glowing as he caused a bullet to explode. With a flick, he tossed cards to meet those of Alhambra. "An' I can't b'lieve dat dis punk stole my trademark!"
"Shit! They're on the side of the building! Remy - take the windows."
A shower of glass rained down on the vampires, distracting them with cuts that while easily healed still diverted attention. Then the wall beneath them exploded, sending the two hurtling back down to eart."
"And you lot - GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT YOU BLOOMIN' DAFT LOONIES!" Allerdyce screamed at the crowd. "Remy! That vampire girl - get her out. We need to take the supports. This thing needs to come down. If they fight up again there they could move this altercation over the crowd and we're going to have casualties."
Remy rushed over to where part of the building had been demolished and Seras was crouching with her massive firearm. He stood next to her and she stared up at him dumbly. Then he knelt and touched the gun, sending a crackle of kinetic energy through it.
"Fire at him," he directed her.
She did, and when the bullet emerged it fizzled with Remy's characteristic energy.
"We need to leave, cheri" he told her.
"What?"
"We need to leave. Dis building is gonna come down."
"Oh." She hefted the gun and scrambled out of the way.
Turning back around, Remy resumed his visual ignition of any stray projectiles. His fatigue was becoming evident, however. Allerdyce turned on his partner with a frown.
"I need to go take care of the other thing - can ya handle things here?"
"Yeah," Remy nodded. "Most o' de bystanders ran anyway."
"Then I'll see you soon," he murmured.
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Try as she might to decipher what Fr. Anderson was thinking, the expression on his face was unreadable even to Wanda. She turned her attention back to the television where live footage had stopped; now there was only intermittant description being given and old clips being replayed. It seemed that two others had joined the fray, and from Anderson's growl of 'Murdock,' Wanda realized that they must be American Iscariots.
Privately, she was glad. She hated it when people suffered and died, and these two seemed to be concerned with that as well. They left the vampire up to Alucard but instead focused on making sure that people got out alive and relatively unscathed. It gave her hope that perhaps she could serve a similar function within their sister branch of the organization.
Yes, they were called upon to descend into hell; but perhaps some of them could pull the others back up.
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As Pip started to fire on the men in the room, he heard a sound from over his shoulder, like a soft 'flick.' He had barely turned his head when a stream of flame rushed into the room, immolating those who were inside as well as anything else in the vicinity.
"Told ya I'd see you again, mate," St. John replied with a smile.
Pip tossed the bomb into the room, not that it was necessary but for purposes of disposal, and the two parted ways. The conflagration was spreading and Pip needed to make it to the helicopter. Allerdyce, however, was content to stroll out casually and used the lighter to send flames jutting up the side of the storied building, gradually creating an inferno that would be hot enough to cause the steel inside to sag and ooze.
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Pietro's body jolted just slightly as he ended up on dry land again, his feet churning up dust as he went. He nodded at the directions he was being given and adjusted his course to the right.
It wouldn't be long now.
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"Jesus! Did he eat that vampire? I think I'm gonna be ill!"
The last of the building collapsed and St. John cut the fire down to smoldering embers.
"No time to worry 'bout dat now," Remy grumbled. "Everybody's gone and we're done here." He nodded to Seras as the sounds of the chopper drew near.
She turned and ran towards it, then looked back once and gave them a nod. The Hellsings flew off while the Iscariots began strolling casually down the street. Moments later a blur pulled up beside them and then came to stop in their path. Pietro took a set of keys out of a pouch and tossed them to Remy.
"Here. One's for a car that's parked two streets over. It's a black sedan. The other is for a hotel room in the next town. The name of the place is on the key chain and the room number is on the key."
"You comin' with?" Allerdyce asked.
"Not right now. I might join you tonight. For now, though, I have my own assignments to do."
With that he was off again in a flurry. The two agents turned towards one another.
"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
Remy nodded.
"Dat chile looks jus' like Lorna."
"Yeah. Weird." He shook his head. "Anyway. Shall we get going before reports and the like reconverge?"
The cajun man nodded in agreement and they made their way to the car.
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Kurt wiped the blood off of his blades and onto the carpet with a look of distaste on his face. Next to him Heinkel gave a nod of approval; they were of a like mind in believing that traitors did not deserve to live. Each and every one of the men who'd been tempted by the promises of monsters would die by their hands. Perhaps it was simply Heinkel's dogged enthusiasm rubbing off on him, but he found himself feeling vindicated in and even enjoying the task. It was a cathartic feeling, like cutting out a tumor with his bare hands.
Looking down upon the carnage, Maxwell felt a tremor throughout his body at the sight of the priests' blood. His veins felt like they were molten and the burning sensation emanated forth from his heart reaching even the tips of his fingers. Exterminating their enemies, destroying evil - that's what they were created for. There was a dull pounding in his ears. Suddenly, he wished to touch the blood and knelt down...
"Boss?" Heinkel's voice called him back to himself. "What do we do now?"
Slightly embarrassed, Maxwell straightened up and looked at the Iscariots surrounding him. "We wait for Pietro to return with news," he instructed.
"Amen," voices chorused as they left the room.
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A figure watching a massive screen turned the footage of the Brazilian incident off. So that was the beast that Integra Hellsing commanded; and commanded so well, apparently. If there were anyone, anywhere who might be worthy of him... she was a distinct possibility.
He would have to see when he eventually attacked. War was coming and he smiled beneath his steel trappings, imagining the opportunity it would give him to strike when all others were weakened.
Outside his castle, the cold Latvarian winds wrapped themselves around the battlements, their moans covering up the echoes of his laughter.
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CC: Not really comics references, but pop culture ones: Remy and St. John persistently refer to "The Boondock Saints" in chapter 13 and Wanda in chapter 12 is listening to "I Don't Know How to Love Him" from Jesus Christ, Superstar.