Pootis McTootis melted out of the darkness, rolling around in his Laz-E-Boi chair like it was a day at the office. He readjusted his top hat, and expertly aligned his monocle. He took a drag on his crack pipe, then he turned towards the audience. Startled, he nearly jumped out of his chair.

"I ain't seen you fuckers in a long-ass time", he explained to the audience. "You all scared the piss outta me."

Indeed, his pants had been soiled. With a heavy sigh, he ripped them off, revealing his Dora the Explorer tighties. He adjusted the camera so that his underwear wouldn't be see on camera, then continued.

"I wish I had a plethora of excuses for you, but the truth is, I do have a plethora of excuses, and you all couldn't give the slightest shit about any of them. You just want more of Alucard and Anderson verbally assaulting minorities."

He twisted around in his chair, revealing his Barney the dinosaur boxers once more, and produced a piece of paper from behind the chair.

He straightened it out, saying, "Do not worry; as I have mentioned before, I have no intention of giving up on this story, and more content is coming very soon. No definitive dates, because people wanna keep fucking with my schedule. So, in the meantime, I have prepared a little pick-me-up for you. Have you ever wondered what a vampire and a vampire hunter would talk about if they were stuck in a car together for several hours?"

He waited for the audience to respond, and when they didn't, he cleared his throat, and returned his gaze to the paper.

"Well, as it turns out-"

A boot came flying from the audience, striking Pootis McTootis in the face, knocking his monocle off of him.

"Son of a biscuit consumer", he cursed. "I need that darned thing to read! Who the flip flap frickity frack threw that dumb shoe?!"

"Actually, it was a boot", someone corrected from the audience.

Pootis McTootis withdrew a flintlock pistol, and fired it in the direction of the voice. It missed entirely because it was smoothbore, and instead nailed his neighbor's dog.

Pootis McTootis threw the pistol away, and put his monocle back over his eye.

"Now then", he declared, "as it turns out, if you're travelling through America, one of America's worst legends will arise... the skinwalkers."

...

Anderson kept the speed maxed out at twenty miles over the speed limit, just enough to really cut down the time of their trip, but not enough to bring in one of those felony charges that cops seemed to find so delicious. Alucard had tried to crack a few jokes, if only to calm his own nerves, but he could feel a breakdown arising nonetheless. He had had breakdowns in the past, but they were not the kind that most people would recognize.

Whenever Alucard had a mental breakdown, essentially, his creative brain would cease, and logic would take over. Logic dictated that his troubles could be traced to outside sources, and thus came the phase when it was too late to retreat to the bunkers. From that point on, he became a walking death machine; several hundred people dying in a night was a pretty mild breakdown.

The first time he had experienced one of these was shortly before his first battle with the Turks. It was initially meant to be a surprise attack, but instead, he had walked straight up to them and had killed them all with a precision that only a child soldier turned warrior king could achieve. His family physician had recognized it as a reverse form of Battle Sickness; instead of running away from the trauma, he ran towards it, and destroyed it.

Now his brain was scrambling to calm his nerves, thinking of anything to keep him distracted until he could calm himself down. His eyes immediately fell on Anderson for a source of entertainment. He decided that humor wasn't going to soothe him. So instead, he opted for a question that he knew he shouldn't really be asking.

"So, what the fuck are you doing in America anyway? You never told me."

Anderson wheeled about with a glare on his face, more than likely about to tell him to shut his mouth. That changed when Anderson quickly took notice of the fact that Alucard was sweating blood. His face cleared of any anger instantaneously.

Anderson mimed wiping sweat from his brow. Alucard cleared his throat, backhanding his forehead. When it came back red, he hid it in his lap, absorbing the blood back in through his skin.

"Well, boy-o", Anderson began, making something of a reach, "A big objective I was given was to collect information and live samples for the Hall of Horrors."

That caught a raised eyebrow from Alucard. Undoubtedly, Anderson was feeding him bottom-tier information, but even so, it was nearly bombshell. If there were still empty cells in the Hall of Horrors, much less empty databanks, then the Catholic Church was really dropping the ball. It was one of those places that very rarely saw expansions in the modern day.

"Hall of Horrors", Pip asked loudly, probably trying to keep Seras awake and interested. Currently, she was content to stare out the window; nevertheless, Pip continued, "What the hell is that?"

"Silence, Frog", Anderson responded.

Alucard raised an eyebrow, and Anderson sighed.

"Well, since yer already here and ya already know... the Vatican has been keeping a... I don't really know what to call it, a zoo? I guess a zoo of all of the abominable creatures that the world has to offer. Have you ever heard of SCP?"

"Uh... no?"

"Well, it's kinda like that. I guess they do experiments on 'em, but I don't really see the point, considerin' we know enough ta kill 'em, and that's all we need ta know. It's got an official name, with letters and numbers and all that nerdy shite, but everyone just calls it the Hall of Horrors, which is the most fittin' name fer it."

"So, what samples specifically does the Vatican want you to collect", Alucard asked.

Trying to solve the mystery of why the Vatican, with its long-standing history of shady bullshit, would even still need someone to collect them samples, given how many samples they probably already had, was already distracting Alucard enough to alleviate some of the stress that was building over Seras' deteriorating condition. That stupid girl! If she had told him sooner, he could have stopped this before it had ever become a problem! Did she think that he would have killed her over a werewolf bite?!

That thought stopped him in his tracks. Was that why she hadn't told him? Because she genuinely believed that he would have just killed her and been done with her?

He ran his hands over his upper lip, where his canines were... where his venom sacks used to be. Suddenly, his panic came back in full force, threatening to break him mentally. He hadn't had a breakdown in over eighty years, and that had happened because he had briefly believed the Helsing family line to have been wiped out. A tidal wave of red swept over him, and his vision began to be tinged by it, ever so slightly.

"Well, ya see", Anderson continued, "the Vatican has yet to acquire a skinwalker, so's I gotta go get one."

"Now that's interesting", Alucard interjected, just trying to keep this thread of conversation alive.

"It is", Anderson seconded, "especially considerin' what me research's led me to believe about 'em."

"That being?"

"There's more than one kind."

That was news to Alucard.

"Elaborate", Alucard said flatly.

Instead of doing so, Anderson popped open the glove compartment in front of Alucard.

"Mah typed report's already written on the matter", he said. "Perhaps it'd be more soothin' to do some good ol' fashioned readin'."

"But I find your trashcan accent so hilarious! Please read it to me so I can chuckle every time you say a word incorrectly?"

"Suck me arsehole and finger mah pee-pee". Anderson told him flatly.

Alucard gave a long and exaggerated sigh, saying, "Fiiiiiiine", as if he were a teenage girl being told to relinquish the home phone so Mom could call the suitor she was getting flirty with. He pulled the stapled-together mound of paper, and read the title.

The American Skinwalker and its many Facets

"Goodness gracious, can you get more pretentious?"

"The Church loves its pretentiousness."

"Oh boy, this is gonna suck, isn't it?"

"Ye."

"Alright... here goes. 'The traditional Mimicker is thought to have been a Fallen combination of angel and chameleon'... chameleon? Really? Who deduced that, a sixth grader?"

"Hey, do you know for sure?"

"Well, I suppose you have a point. Anyway, fuck this I'm flipping through until I find something interesting. Here we go, specifications. 'Of the many types, it is known that Mimickers, although having been spotted worldwide, are most commonly found in America. Their abilities are thought to be influenced solely by their experience with blending, although it has yet to be proven if this is the sole enhancing factor. These abilities range from simply mimicking a person's voice and physical features, all the way up to a deep understanding of the language and person being mimicked in question, and even replacing the person in their daily life completely, although this is a rare occurrence'."

Alucard glanced up.

"Shouldn't someone have already made a file like this?"

"Redundancies, redundancies", Anderson said with a sigh.

"Yeah... anyway, it goes on in this insufferably scholarly writing, 'However, through an interview I managed to conduct of a counselor, who will remain anonymous as per their request, I have discovered a new variety of what I deduce to be a Mimicker. This new type seems to have a much firmer control over their hippocampus, and can use a direct line of sight psychic attack on a victim to paralyze them.'"

Alucard glanced up.

"This for real?"

"Ye."

"Fuck."

"Ye."

"Huh... it continues, even more insufferably, 'I have designated this type "The Tormentor", as it uses a victim's most deep-seeded fears of Hell, including images of the realms of Sheol, to paralyze them. Should a victim receive a light jolt (i.e., they fall over), the connection is broken, insinuating that the connection isn't strong enough to permanently damage a human mind. There are many insinuations that can be drawn from this; ultimately, until we find more survivors of these attacks, we will never know the true extent of them.'"

"'Recommended course of action; exterminatus to extinction. These creatures are far too crafty and powerful to be left alive.'"

Alucard grinned as he read the last bit.

"'And if you rat bastards brush this recommendation off and tell me once again to capture a creature that I've recommended exterminatus on, I'll capture one just to let it loose in the Bishop Michael's bedroom, and you damn well know I make good on my threats.'"

Alucard returned the papers to the glove compartment.

"So, even the Vatican fears you?"

"Ye... but I wish that weren't the case. The church saved me life, gave me purpose, and is full of good people who are willin' ta do the right thing even if it costs them everythin'. Theres just so much bloody corruption in the church, and it makes me fuckin' mad. It has such great potential, but it has so much holdin' it back."

"Would now be a good time to say that you're a hundred times more likely to be molested as a child in school or in the scouts than you are in any Christian church?"

"Doesn't mean it shouldn't happen at all."

"Agreed. And I hear you. Nobody's perfect, but pedophilia is not one of those things that people can just forgive and forget."

"Aye, and it's not a title you can just arbitrarily slap someone with and ignore everyone else who does it. Speakin' of which..."

Alucard began to feel the car slow, and saw Anderson flip on the emergency lights.

"Why are we slowing down?"

"There's a car with its flashers on a little ways up", Anderson said. "If they need real help, we'll call them someone."

"We don't have time for this", Alucard grumbled.

"If that were you out there", Anderson queried, "would you want me ta stop?"

Alucard dipped his head in defeat.

"Just a quick stop, lad", Anderson told him as he slowed to a crawl, putting his own blinkers on and coming to a stop behind the car.

Alucard glanced out the window to see a young woman on the phone, looking quite frantic as she ran around her crumpled up car. Inside the car, the lights were on, and he could see an elderly man in the passengers seat. His eyes were closed and his face was covered in blood.

"Hit-and-run car accident", Alucard said nonchalantly.

"Aye", Anderson said. "Looks bad."

"We'll stick around long enough-"

"-to see what we can do, aye. Then we'll leave."

From the backseat, Alucard heard Pip's voice.

"Need me to do anything?"

"Pip", Alucard began, "if you move from that spot I'll disembowel you and turn your organs into one of those fruit basket hats that you see rich wives wearing to make fun of aboriginals."

"I'll stay back here and keep an eye on Pip", Post Malone piped up from the back.

"Attaboy", Alucard told him, as he opened the passenger door and exited the car.

The two skilled maniacs approached the frantic woman, their wide grins a stark contrast to her melting expression.

"What seems to be the problem, young lady", Anderson asked, in his most pleasant "customer service" voice.

"My father won't wake up", the lady started yelling.

"Yo, chill", Alucard told her. "The fuck goin' on?"

The woman began stuttering, and stumbling on her words, clearly having been in a panicked state for some time.

"He-I-we-he was-"

Without warning, Anderson backhanded her across the face. She stumbled back, startled, and completely speechless.

"Better", Anderson asked.

The woman shook her head, saying, "Uh... well-"

"Good", Anderson interjected. "Now, take it from the top."

"Um... well... s-some guy head-on collided with us, and my father won't wake up!"

"There, there", Anderson told her, gently patting her shoulder. "We'll help ye."

"I'll make sure the geezer's still warm", Alucard told Anderson, "you lift her tires."

Anderson chuckled, as the woman's gaze became horrified.

"He's jokin', lass", Anderson told her. He turned a confused expression towards Alucard, asking, "Ye are jokin', right?"

"Depends on how much tread is left on the tires."

Anderson chuckled again. Alucard chanced a glance at her tires for laughs. He didn't like what he saw.

"Lady, your tires are as bald as Steve Harvy, and nowhere near as handsome. How the fuck have you been driving normally all this time?"

The woman immediately became flustered.

"I-well-"

"Anderson", Alucard called back, "go check for skid marks on the road, I'll help this poor bastard."

Anderson nodded, and disappeared into the darkness. The frantic woman seemed to become even more frantic, doing nothing to alleviate Alucard's suspicions.

"W-why is he checking for skid marks?"

"It will help me figure out where the guy hit you", Alucard lied. "If I know that, then I'll be able to accurately determine how severe this man's injuries are."

In truth, it was pretty easy to see where she had been hit; a glancing blow from the front right corner. From the angle, she would have had to be nearly sideways for a head-on collision to cause that kind of damage. He looked over the old man, who he could tell by a blood bubble over his nostril was still breathing.

He gently felt around his neck, and couldn't feel any irregular protrusions. From the way his forehead was bleeding, something had dug into the skin and cut it, rather than him having hit it so hard that it split the skin. The massive bleed was easily explainable, as forehead wounds typically bled much harder than others. The icing on the cake was that Alucard could sense the man's brain activity; his brain wasn't mush. In fact, it seemed to be working itself back together.

He leaned the man's seat back as far as it would go, and tilted his forehead back so that his mouth was open. Then he turned back to the woman.

"He has a mild concussion", he concluded. "He should wake up in an hour or so, probably repeatedly ask what happened, and will try to get up. Just keep him lying down and tell him to keep sleeping. When he asks what happened, answer him the same way every time."

"Oh, God", the woman said, falling to her knees with relief. "Thank you!"

She was immediately yanked back to her feet by a very angry Anderson.

"You lyin' shite", he shouted. "YOU were the 'some guy' who swerved into the other lane! Yer bald-arse tires and yer bald-arse excuses!"

"Wha-"

"You were so bleedin' selfish that ye never changed yer tires ta save a buck, and now look, yer father's dead!"

"Actually", Alucard interjected, "he just has a mild con-"

"Alucard, let's ditch this joint!"

"Okay", Alucard told him.

As the two men walked away, the woman mumbled, "Assholes."

Alucard was about to make a witty remark when Anderson wheeled on her.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YE JUST SAY", he shouted, his face contorting with anger.

The woman seemed stunned. Perhaps she hadn't expected anyone to call her out. Anderson confidently strode up to her and backhanded her so hard that she flew through the air and landed on her face. Alucard was a bit taken aback, and even more so when Anderson began shouting again.

"This man here", waving a hand at Alucard, "may be a complete 'n total jackarse, but he's done far more good in his lifetime than you ever will in yours! He's made decisions that would have broke lesser men, and frankly, he's a bloody good fa-"

Anderson glanced over at Alucard, hesitant for a brief moment.

"-friend."

A huge smile broke out over Alucard's face. He decided to step forward as well. He pointed to Anderson.

"And this man may be a sociopath with psychopathic tendencies, but he's far smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and his sense of justice is more highly tuned than any of these weak-willed men of the current day. He also happens to be a total bro."

Anderson turned a toothy grin towards him, giving a thumbs-up.

Both men turned to the woman, waiting for her response.

She gave none.

Frowning, Anderson crouched down, feeling her neck for a pulse.

"Holy shite, I killed her!"

"Oh, fuck! Let's ditch this bitch!"

"Right behind ye!"

The two men fled for the car, jumping into their respective seats. Anderson quickly turned the engine over, peeling out with the screeching of tires.

"Did you two help out the funny leprechaun", Seras groggily asked from the back.

"We snapped its neck", Anderson told her.

"Oh", Seras responded, sounding sort of sad.

The car roared forward, chewing up the darkness before it, and leaving it behind in a cloud of exhaust.

...

Pootis McTootis tried desperately to fix his window. He pulled the shade up and down, trying to change the scenery. He pulled it down once, revealing large lava flats. He pulled it up and down again, revealing a tornado in Kansas. He pulled it up and down once more, revealing the ice flows of Antarctica. Satisfied, he sat back down in his Lay-Z-Ass chair.

"Well", he said, "it wasn't all about skinwalkers, but it was all about friendship in the end, which, as we all know, is the most magical thing a person can be bestowed... unless you're trying to take over the world, in which case friendship is little more than a hinderance. After all, who needs friends when you have robot overlords?"

He withdrew his handkerchief, blowing his nose in it, and returning it to his breast pocket.

"Anyway, life has been quite insane at the moment, and I apologize for having not updated in so long. I shall endeavor to do better in the future. However, I shall make no promises, as those are not things I am willing to keep."

Once more, a nosefull of coke was inhaled, and a west African frog was licked. The frog successfully put back in its cage, Pootis McTootis returned his attention to the audience. He slurped down a few mushrooms, then continued his speech.

"Unfortunately, the next few chapters are going to have moments where it gets dark. After that, it'll continue to be duh-ARK. But once that is over, the tone will be much lighter, I promise. And that's the direction the story will go in. Once more, although I will guess that it shall again fall on deaf ears, PM me, I'm lonely."

Pootis McTootis moved over to the gently burning fireplace, pouring more gasoline on it. He returned to the chair, and faced the audience once more.

"Now go the fuck to bed, it's like 9:00pm, you have school in the morning."

The light in the room faded, and Pootis McTootis tilted his head back, gently snoring away.