A/N: Sorry about the upload time and if it's not...fully edited. I've been working on this for weeks and I wanted to put it up for Christmas, so try to ignore any little errors you might notice for the author's sake. I would also like to dedicate this chapter to the TWO sole people who decided to review my last chapter. Thank you for taking the time to do so; reviews make me feel like putting up the next chapter is worth while. I was also unsure about how best to handle the rating; I figured I should upgrade from a T to an M primarily for the graphic nature of the violence. I don't feel like getting in trouble because it's rated incorrectly.

The impossibly long trek to the kitchen was slow and ambling, Seras' mind distracted by the ringing of some distant memory; Austin was a place familiar to her, and yet, despite this fact she found herself unable to recall why exactly it should matter. On at least one level she was excited about the trip, a curious aspect of the upcoming mission that she supposed had something to do with this frustratingly distant memory lodged in her brain. With a brisk shake of her head, she'd returned to her conscious awareness to find herself in the kitchen, a rather amused looking Walter staring at her from across the large, marble topped island in the center of the kitchen. Seras raised an eyebrow and offered back a toothy grin, hip cocked ever so slightly to the side.

"I wouldn't be so amused if I'd just been caught in a floral patterned pink apron and kitty oven mitts." Her grin seemed only to widen as Walter blanched, glanced down at himself, and heaved a sigh worthy of even herself. "No, no! Leave everything on; you don't want to ruin your suit, now do you?" She teased as he tossed the mitts aside and began struggling out of the apron. It was simply too amusing to see the Angel of Death decked out in pink to pass up; the Police Girl wished she had a camera or something of the sort nearby. After a few minutes, now adorned solely in a black suit, his monocle reflecting the light of the overhead lights, he cleared his throat and offered a wan smile her way.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Victoria?" Walter's voice was worn, threads of amusement laced in his carefully manicured accent. After a moment of silence, his careful eyes watching her every move, scrutinizing her actions and her appearance, Seras remained standing, the folder now held to her chest with both of her hands. His eyes shifted to the folder, gaze burning with something indescribable before blinking back to reality, shaking his head ever so slightly as he turned back to the pasta he had been stirring. Accepting this silently, her own eyes wary and aware enough to have seen the slight shift in his features, she slid onto one of three bar stools that lined the side of the island closest to the door.

For several moments, neither of them spoke. Seras rested her gently clasped hands atop the still closed manila folder, eyes boring into the back of Walter's head as she waited for him to turn back from the apparently captivating boiling pot. Silence exploded in the kitchen, thick and offensive as the vampire stilled, her breathing all but stopping as she adopted the statue like solidity that only the living dead managed to perfect. After what felt like only a minute, but had in actuality been fifteen, Walter turned, two cups of tea and the teapot held in his hand. He slid Seras' across the island before dragging a bar stool around to the opposite side if the divisor. He sat with a groan and placed his forearms down, leaning ever so slightly forward.

Glancing down, Seras' eyes softened and a smile eased across her features; her favorite tea in her favorite teacup, a blue and white swirl design cup, delicate and old, a combination that Walter had always said suited her. With that same smile gracing her lips, she sipped from the cup, never ceasing to be amazed with the happiness that ensued the warmth.

"I'm not going to like what I find in here… am I, Walter?" Her voice was soft, just barely audible in the silent kitchen. Walter sighed and offered her his candid stare.

"No, Ms. Victoria. I'm afraid not." His voice was heavy, more exhausted than anything else as he met her eyes. Despite the utter solidity of this statement, there was something soothing to the vampire in the elder man's eyes. With a light sigh, the resignation clear in that simple breath, Seras carefully opened the folder, rubbing her finger along the crease in the center to force the cover open, unaware of just the sort of rabbit hole she was leaping headlong into.

OOoOoOoOoOoO

It took her over four and half hours to read. At first it was difficult to pull her mind from the distractions of the Hellsing manor; members of the staff drifting in and out, some for food and others to speak to Walter on matters which concerned him. At one point, she was sure her Master was eavesdropping, rifling through her mind before she shut him out with a cold anger that seemed to do its' job. All the while Walter sat patiently by, saying nary a word except when asked a question and refreshing Seras' tea every time she finished it. It was perhaps the third cup in that she asked politely for a splash of the strongest alcohol they had, caring nary a whit if it would have any effect on her.

The disappearances had begun approximately four months ago. Seras was only just reading about any of this now because it had taken this long for the American government to enlist Hellsing for help; apparently what was happening there now was of the likes they had never seen. Curiously enough, the FBI had been brought in after the third disappearance and they, like the police, had had little luck in determining the culprit of these heinous crimes. After all that had happened, it had been decided that enough mistakes and dead-end clues called for someone from abroad. Someone with ample experience regarding such mysterious happenings as the occult happenings in this free-spirited town. Considering what the folder contained Seras soon realized that, in reality, this was simply out of their league.

The local Austin police department had thought little of the first murder; a nameless man on the street who was found dead in a garbage can in the back of a Denny's. His eyes had been gouged out, mouth open and face twisted in a look of sheer horror. Despite this, there was little to go on; he was homeless and lacked any sort of ID. Were it not for the cross viciously scratched into his forehead, the connection to the other murders wouldn't have been made. The images attached showed a middle-aged man, teeth missing (though they were determined to have been gone long before he was murdered) and torn, dirty clothes in disarray. His eyes were nothing but bloody remnants of what should have been eyes; deep gouges with nothing more than bloodied pulp. Twin trails of blood ran down his face, as though he had been crying. She could tell that the cross had been done post-mortem, a fact that she later confirmed from the report.

The next incidence was a disappearance, a sixteen year old girl; Sarah Thompson from San Marcos. She'd been shopping with her friends when she'd vanished. Perhaps the most curious part was that none of her friends, (four of them, two of them male, each around her age, give or take a year) hadn't seen a thing. Seras, as well as the police, had a feeling this had something to do with the .10 blood alcohol content that they each blew when they were later picked up by a traffic cop responding to their call for help. They searched for the girl for weeks; signs were posted by friends and family on every light post and bulletin board for miles, covering far beyond the city limits of Austin. Skimming the rest of the report, detailing who they spoke to and the responses they elicited, Seras found that, as of a week ago, they had still seen neither hide nor hair of the girl. Photos of the girl were attached; dirty blonde, bright blue eyes, warm smile, modest figure… She was posing with a straw cowboy hat, mid-laugh with people Seras assumed were her friends in the background. Beautiful in a way that was not solely related to her appearance.

After Sarah was Eric Jones, a freshman in high school and a rising star on the football team. His fifteenth birthday was four days after he was taken. The police, at this point, were beginning to worry. Two teenagers taken from Austin in the dead of night and, much like the second victim (while the report of the girl had attempted to maintain some sort of hope for her returning alive, both the police and Seras knew better), there were no witnesses despite the fact that he had gone out with his family. To celebrate his winning goal in the game he had been in earlier that evening. They put his time of disappearance somewhere around 8:15; the last person to see him had been an elderly gentleman who had held the bathroom door open for the young man. He even went so far as to mention how polite the lad had been, his smile bright and his demeanor energetic.

Unlike the girl, his body had been found on the evening of his birthday, his parents holding onto a last scrap of hope that even the police were beginning to doubt existed. Horror began to take on a whole new meaning as the Police Girl ceased scanning and read each and every detail, building herself up for the images she was about to witness. She had a feeling that the devil would, in this instance, be in the details.

Had it not been for some drunken, horny teenagers it was likely that his discovery would have taken longer. Three pairs of teens, drunk on alcohol they later claimed they stole from one of their parent's refrigerators, stumbled into one of several abandoned warehouses in a slummy district, just barely within the Austin city limits. It was a well known hangout for teens, as were a few other warehouses in the nearby district, and it had been a normal Friday night, each of them with a mind for only one thing. All of them had been relatively drunk when the police finally responded to the frantic, terrified call they received shortly after midnight. The 911 operator had stated, along with the manuscript of what had been said, that the kids had sounded beyond wasted and, even so, they had been terrified. The last thing on their mind had been any danger they would incur by calling, underage and far beyond the legal limit. What they arrived to find at the scene had unnerved even the hardened captain of the police force, Samuel Landzer. He had been the only one not to lose his lunch.

Eric was found crucified, his limbs staked to the splintery, poorly crafted excuse for a cross. This alone had the entire police force after a cult, some deranged group of religious nut jobs whose identities were mysterious enough to be safe for the officers. No way they could know who had done this to the poor, talented young boy. Seras understood this, this feeling of hopeful anonymity… And yet somehow, it was always in these cases where the exact opposite seemed to be true.

Despite having only been missing for three days, the boy was clearly malnourished, his cheekbones standing in stark relief against his sallow, pale skin. His face had been contorted into a look that conveyed his terror, horror and pain all in one gruesome quagmire of emotion. His eyes, like the homeless man found in the dumpster, had been gouged out leaving bloody trails of tears down his cheeks. However, rather than a cross carved into his forehead, the roman numeral I had been brutally scratched into the flesh. His face, marred and destroyed was perhaps the most bearable thing to look at. Below his neck was a mess so disturbing Seras had to stare at the multiple photographs for quite some time, comparing what she saw to the coroner's notes, to be sure of what she was looking at. Despite the gore and death she herself had witnessed, she had been unable to keep herself from losing the hint of color she had regained and, after a moment or two, was forced to close her eyes and take a deep breath. The trick was to imagine this as…just a photograph. Something you might see in a horror film, perhaps. But not something that had actually occurred. Not something that had happened to this rising star athlete of his high school.

Below his neck, his body was not recognizable as anything even closely related to a human torso. The entire length of this torso had been torn open; notes in both the autopsy report and in the police report suggested that there had been no weapon found at the scene of the crime. More importantly, whatever had done the damage was not on any sort of file. Weapon after weapon was compared to the wounds, from the reasonable to the ridiculous, including even a semi-sharpened dinner plate that had been found in the alleyway. None of the subsequent wounds matched Eric's wounds. With a magnifying glass Walter had provided, Seras studied the photographs of Eric on the autopsy table, his face covered with a sheet, as though the medical examiner himself could not stand to see him. Almost instantly it became clear that it had been claws. But they were too small to be any sort of native animal, hence the exclusion in the reports. And they had been right to do so; no normal human being would have the strength or the will to tear someone apart using only their hands.

Intestines dangled almost comically from the center of his stomach; one of the photographs had caught some of the remaining liquid dripping the last few inches to pool on the floor. Various organs were scattered in the warehouse, each corner holder the greater amounts of blood and various bits and pieces of his insides. His feet and hands were never found. The stumps showed evidence of cauterization, leading both police and Seras to believe that he had been alive when they had been removed. When the police had gathered themselves enough, the criminal investigation team had been summoned and the boy brought down from what should never have been his final resting place. It was when he was finally pried free from the cross that the carvings in his back were revealed.

"Primus…e..quattour…" Seras read the words softly to herself, startling Walter who had been pouring her a fresh cup of tea. She instantly recognized it as Latin and, due to her increasing boredom as the years had rolled on, she was able to read it. Not that that made the message any less foreboding.

"First of…four?" The police report confirmed what she thought it meant. Eric Jones was the first of four. It was as though the bottom of her stomach dropped out; a thin, icy coil of worry wound itself up in her belly as the very clear implications of this set in. The wounds had bled when they were created; another indication that they had been done while Eric was still breathing. It had seemed, however, that there was not a surface on the boy, the cross, or the warehouse floor, that had not been covered in blood.

Once Seras had concluded the police and autopsy report for Eric Jones, and had carefully taken in each of the multiple photographs that had been paper clipped to the reports, she found herself…fairly unwilling to read the rest of the attached document. Despite her hardened attitude towards such things (it was difficult to remain squeamish when nearly every night of her dead life was filled with gore, death and more death), Seras was not surprised to find herself nauseated and nervous. The pictures had been horrific, to say the least, and already she was ready and willing to launch herself full throttle into the mission. Any creature, vampiric or otherwise, that could do such things to such a young, apparently sweet child, needed to be stopped at all costs.

With a heavy heart and a cold belly, Seras took a deep, slow breath before turning Eric's file over and delving into the other five.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Three hours later, Seras was closing the folder a little greener around the gills than when she had first entered the kitchen. Wearily she raised her gaze to catch Walter's eyes, his own gaze drawn to her when she had closed the file. A tiny blossom of warmth blossomed in her seemingly hollow chest; it was as though he had known she would need some sort of comfort or support as she was reading into the cases. He had said nary a word for the hours that she had read over the folder's contents, simply existing in a hovering mother sort of way, refreshing her tea the moment she had drained her cup and doing tiny tasks here and there as she read, making just enough noise for the vampire to know he remained in the kitchen. While the years had changed each of the Hellsing Organization members, they had also incurred relationships to blossom between some of them. Walter had been the closest thing she could call a friend for quite some time; the only person who was willing to listen if she was upset and the only one with just enough tact to help with her problems. Inadvertently, he had become the father she had lost.

The warmth that had filled her was gone, now, leaving her feeling hollow and miserable. Thinking of her father had refreshed the terror of the evening's nightmares. Years had passed and not only was she still haunted by the events that took place, but she found herself in possession of a nearly photographic memory of the incident. Even the pain from her stomach wound still seemed to throb every so often. She stood then, as though to outrun her surfacing memories, stretching her arms high above her head before crossing them just below her breasts.

"You know about this, right Walter. These case files, the disappearances…the murders…"

"Indeed, Ms. Victoria. Integra gave me the details as she collected the folder you have in your hands now." She nodded beneath the fluorescent lighting, chewing absently on her lip as her mind whirred. All the while Walter simply sat still, awaiting the barrage of questions he thought likely to occur.

"Oh Walter, this is horrible." Her voice was tinny, as distant as her gaze. Two of the remaining cases had been the same, except one of them had been a woman with evidence of severe sexual trauma; Seras had cracked the marble topped island when she had reached that particular description, so tightly had her fists been clenched on the island. The remaining three cases remained active as missing persons files.

"I can see now why we're being sent…" Almost absently she scanned the extensive notes Sir Integra had added as she herself had read the reports, all the while stretching and moving her way silently around the kitchen. Walter kept her in his peripheral, moving his head only slightly as he set his own cup of tea down, the tea itself having long since cooled.

She paused for a moment, opened up several of the cupboards as though searching for a snack, the actions a deeply ingrained habit that she remained unaware of as her mind whirled. It was more than obvious that there was something evil occurring in the city of Austin, Texas, and based on the evidence presented, it was rather clear that the culprit responsible for these actins was vampire in nature. All in all, it was curious. The same questions Sir Integra had so clearly presented in her crisp and thorough notes surfaced in Seras' mind as well, whirling and swirling about her battered head as she rifled through cabinets and drawers, rearranging and shifting things as she moved. Walter followed her movements with a raised eyebrow, something akin to amusement evident in his gaze.

What were vampires doing in the states? It was true that this was not the first incident of vampire activity in the United States; rather, there had been a string of attacks in the early forties and late sixties that had quickly been silenced and taken care of at the time. However, vampire activity was far more common in Europe, likely because the first vampire had been a born and bred European, leading the larger concentration of them to be there. It had also not gone unnoticed that the date of the first disappearance coincided with the last incident of vampire attacks they had had in London. Subsequently, their own silences had begun just as Eric Jones was found, trussed up like some disturbing display for any and all to witness.

And yet, perhaps the most important question remained: Why was this still occurring? If the Austin police had been incapable of handling what was occurring, why wait until five distinct, obviously linked cases, not including the homeless man's death (whom Seras believed to be some sort of…practice for whoever it was that was killing these kids), had already happened before contacting the Hellsing Organization? Why was the FBI so late in joining the fray? Why wait until five teenagers, not a one over eighteen, had been kidnapped and, in three of the scenarios, murdered in a manner that was not only indicative of more to come, but was violent and brutal in a way that suggested serious sadism? According to the Latin phrases carved into each of the murdered kids' backs, there was still one left to go. Would it be one of the ones that remained MIA? Or would there be another string of kidnappings? More importantly, what was it that these…monsters were attempting? The "first of four" suggested some sort of ritualistic use, a similar conclusion that all parties had come to. What sort of ritual were they sacrificing these children for?

Quite suddenly Seras dropped the paprika and nutmeg she had been rearranging in the spice cabinet, eyes wide and full of something akin to surprise.

"Alex. Alex! THAT'S why Austin struck such a chord!" Walter was staring at her in surprise, eyebrows lifted as he gave her his full attention.

"Excuse me, Ms. Victoria?"

"Alex Chechki! He was my partner through the police academy! He was always at the top of his class… He helped me along… Taught and trained me when I was caught on something confusing…" She trailed off momentarily, a hint of warmth in the fond memory. "He was so kind to me, Walter. But he left right after we graduated to accept a high ranking position in the states. It was to Austin, Texas he was sent. I remember laughing and teasing him about cowboy hats and the like." She grinned almost sheepishly before the reality of the situation settled itself in. "But there's no way he's still there now. He would never allow something like this to occur for so long unchecked."

With a sigh she turned and exited the kitchen, file in hand as she nodded and thanked Walter for his company. Already she had the rest of her evening planned out; she would pack her belongings for the flight, attempt another round at the shooting range, maybe go for a jog…then another shower before an attempt at sleep. Praying for an hour of restful, uneventful sleep in which her past did not rear it's ugly head. The thought that, had things turned out differently, there may have been someone to turn to with her nightmares; Alex had been the only person she had trusted in her young life, and he had been the only one she had told of her past.

As she meandered about the halls, loosely making her way back to her room with a mind far too full of thoughts to take in her surroundings, she found herself relatively calm, having already decided that she would stop these monsters. The folder remained tucked beneath her arm, held tightly enough to her side that it was a wonder it didn't disappear into her skin. Far too distracted to notice the too dark corner as she sashayed past, the cold curiosity emanating going unnoticed by the vampire as she made her way into the darkened hallway. Before she knew it, she had made it back to her quarters. The folder she set on the table with a sigh, setting it down with the ginger touch of someone handling a live bomb.

"So unobservant, Police Girl." For what felt to be at least the fourth time this day, Seras leapt as though she had been electrocuted. "I've been watching you since you left the kitchen." He phased through the ceiling to land, light as a feather, on the floor. It did not escape the Police Girl's notice, however, that he had chosen (as Alucard never did things that were not planned) to stand in front of her door, effectively blocking off any sort of an escape-

A lecture. Sweet baby James, he was going to lecture her about her sudden inability to stomach her blood.

And then her face really lost its' color; a lecture from her Master was not something she could handle on top of everything that had already occurred this seemingly never-ending day. Before she could open her mouth to tell him this he had already circled around her to sit at the table, his angular body appearing to take up the majority of her space. There was something…odd in his features. While she could not place it, she had a feeling that he was far angrier than he was letting on to. When she attempted to reach out her mind, to touch his own, she was faced with a sharp, solid wall. She shuddered and turned to face him, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed; if there was to be a fight, then by the stones of her bedchamber, she was not going down without trading her own blows.

"Pretty disgusting." Seras blinked, tilting her head slightly at the comment before realizing he was flipping through the folder. "What a pathetic lot of vampires these creatures pretend to be. Ritualistic sacrifices, missing children, and savagely corny destruction." He shook his head, the motion less emphasized with the lack of hat. He reached up and removed his glasses, laying them on the table beside the picture of Eric, his face shining with joy as his friends and family lifted him after the conclusion of a victorious game. She winced, that same feeling of helplessness she had awoken to reawakening with a vengeance, latching onto her mind and consciousness painfully.

"What has you so upset, Police Girl?" Again she jumped, his presence now suffocatingly close, standing mere inches from her face. A whiff of something hit her senses and her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head; since when did her Master smell like chocolate drizzled heaven? Burning fire slid through her frame, alighting in her cheeks and neck as she truly flushed for the first time in what feel like weeks. The heat settled somewhere lower than her belly, intensifying her embarrassment. It was as though he were spewing some sort of pheromone that left her feeling needful and empty.

And, of course, Alucard could see all of this.

A sly smile slid across his features cat-like as he leaned forward, trapping her between the table and himself. With a quick glance, Seras could still see that strange anger smoldering behind his eyes, made all the more real by his closeness. And something else. Some nameless, ancient emotion that Seras couldn't quite place or put a name to. Seras' gaze, however, was focused on the table, hands white knuckling the very edge of the table, back pressed nearly hard enough to break the circular table behind her. Further and further back he pushed her until he towered over her petite frame, his nearly waist-length hair draping over his shoulders to tickle the bare skin of her neck and cheeks.

"M-M-M-M…" And now her breasts were pressed against his chest, something she couldn't solve by sucking in her breath, no matter how painfully he pressed herself into the table. His breath was tickling her cheeks, making her knees weak and shaky. All at once she was helpless. All at once she was overwhelmed in a way she was…unaccustomed to. And all at once…she was not hating this feeling. Coherency attempted to strike; the noises from outside Sir Integra's door, the feeling that they were involved in some way beyond a professional relationship… There was no way what he was doing was, in any way, related to anything he might feel for her. He had to be toying with her. Teasing her and getting her back in place of the lecture she had been so sure had been coming. Sadness bled through her desire, breaking the almost tangible feelings she had felt. Anger began to surface, bleeding into the embarrassment and shock she was feeling, beginning to overwhelm her as he pulled closer and closer…

His lips hovered just above her own parted mouth, Seras' eyes incapable of pulling away from Alucard's hypnotizing gaze.

"Still only a child, Police Girl." And then he was gone, leaving behind that intoxicating scent and the warmth of his skin on hers. His chuckle echoed in her mind, trailing down her shoulders and running through her hair with invisible fingers as she found herself more furious than she'd ever felt in her life. With a strangled, furious cry, she rounded on the table and pounded down with all the force she could muster not only breaking the table, but reducing the greater majority of it to splinters beneath her vampiric hands.

"YOU DIRTY, CRUEL-HEARTED SON OF A BITCH." While her belly and system remained empty on blood, her fury seemed to empower her, energizing her with more than enough strength to accomplish the tasks she had set out for herself. Deciding to postpone her packing, she stormed from her room, slamming the door hard enough to crack the frame behind her as she stomped her way to the shooting range. There was much to do, but in her current state of mind it was likely she would just end up breaking something else if she stayed in the confines of her room much longer. To say she was feeling lucky would be an understatement.

What a silly thought; that her Master might feel anything beyond his "ownership" of the little Police Girl.

A/N: Merry Christmas, dear reviewers, and a Happy New Year. Or, for those who don't celebrate it, happy holidays. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to update faster, so keep them reviews comin'. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated.