Without

Ketti: Oh, look, another update. Just a short-shot, I'm trying to finish and post more of them as I go through my word docs. But more on that later. I still have a surprise for y'all, aside from me posting twice in two days. It might be another update in these collections tonight or tomorrow, we'll see what other ones I find that are too short to be their own stories.

It was three years to the day since the horrendous event known as the London Blitz; Nazi hold outs from Brazil had gathered forces and flown their zeppelins up to the United Kingdom and taken out communications on their way – as well as a few other incidents of less import – to annihilate the historical monuments of the great city, as well as over three million civilian casualties. They were stopped, but not before massive damage was done to the London infrastructure as well as the populace. Their attack had been planned in sickening detail; the path of destruction from their missiles had formed a swastika when seen from above. One of the few buildings left unscathed was the War Museum, perhaps so no one could deny what they had done.

The reasons behind the assault and how it was halted were never fully disclosed to the public, but some survivors swear it to have been an interrupted holy war. The Vatican, of course, denied any involvement when questioned about these purported reports of their forces above the skies of London and the 'angels made of fire'. Without any concrete evidence, the matter was dropped within the month, most attention being focused on rebuilding and the noble families donating their fortunes towards this effort, more specifically the Hellsings.

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, one of the few survivors from Ground Zero who escaped with minor injuries had donated nearly half her family's fortune towards the redevelopment of the city, and was personally involved in overseeing the allotment of these funds. One of the many reasons she was under such heavy media scrutiny was the remains of a downed dirigible by her family estate and her one armed female bodyguard that shadowed her every step. There were rumors, of course, that It had been her family that was the true target, and that the Queen had ordered her to use her resources to rebuild the city as a form of punishment.

There was, of course, nothing to support such ridiculous theories, but that didn't stop the reporters from trying to investigate it nonetheless.

A limo made its way through the streets and stopped briefly, catching some attention from the citizens gathered for the memorial. A golden wolf like dog exited the car first, balancing expertly on three legs, and waited for its owner to follow suit. An ornate walking stick tapped the ground, followed by well polished black shoes and expertly pressed pantlegs, the uninformed thought it was one of the higher up political men to make a brief appearance, and the crisp suit sleeve of the gloved hand appearing on the edge of the door seemed to confirm this suspicion until a bespectacled head of very long blonde hair emerged from the car. She shook her hair out behind her back and pulled her leg stiffly up the curb to stand next to her dog, looking regal as a queen… in a man's business suit.

Her hound barked cheerfully and wagged its tail, heeling to the woman's side faithfully despite the lack of leash. Some of the on lookers backed up a pace, wary of such a large creature getting aggressive, those teeth were enormous, no doubt matched by the bite power behind those jaws. Only the spectators close enough to the sidewalk noticed the subtle eyepatch under the glasses, but quite a few of the survivors of the London Blitz were missing limbs, so it wasn't much of a surprise to find an eyepatch or two.

A reporter on the edge of the crowd perked up and started to trot over to his newest article in the making when the dog seemed to glare into his very soul and lifted its lip in a brief snarl. He paled and decided to hang back a bit, perhaps just watch from the sidelines. He'd heard stories from his fellow news hawks about that mutt chasing them off without leaving enough damage to vie for a lawsuit. Whenever the blonde bodyguard was absent Sir Hellsing had her wolfhound as protection. It was quite obnoxious, really!

It didn't take long for a police officer to approach the pair, smiling nervously in return at the dog happily wagging its tail in greeting. "Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to leash your pet. It's the law."

Integra gave the officer a once over before nodding, "Of course, forgive me, it slipped my mind." Reaching into her pocket with one gloved hand, the besuited woman unlocked the latch with her thumb and hooked it to the lead as the wolf like hound raised itself up and presented its throat obediently. The officer tipped his cap in thanks and respect, having at least some vague idea who the imposing figure was, and melted back into the crowd.

"Well meaning chap," Integra murmured, perhaps to herself, perhaps to her three legged companion. The dog barked amiably enough in agreement and lad the way deeper in to view the memorial stone at the foot of the stage. There was to be a speech, but Sir Hellsing was not rwquired to speak. Names upon names scrolled across the obsidian, though one name was conspicuously absent, and indeed the public was not meant to know of his existence to even acknowledge his disappearance.

Alucard.

"Come along, Seras," Sir Hellsing tugged the leash gently, and the she-wolf turned placidly enough, leading her Mistress to a sjady part of the park where the annual speech was given, Three years, it felt like hardly a day had passed since the Nazis were invading and oceans of blood ran in the streets. Onlookers kept a respectful distance from the duo, forgetting them in an instant when the microphone gave a warble of feedback; the speech was about to begin.

"It's all rubbish, of course, watered down lies to please the public." Sir Integra lit one of her cigars and smoked, one hand on Seras' head. When it was done, and the civillians were busy clapping, the heiress slipped away. This was not truly ground zero, for it had been obliterated with the bombs, but it was close enough for government work. No, Sir Hellsing and her hound were walking through the deserted streets, taking in the scorch marked remains of buildings not yet repaired, remembering the line of corpses that had decorated the city.

Seras pulled ahead with a whine and snuffled the ground where a paving stone was missing in a perfect square. Emptiness surrounded them, the murmur of voices a distant memory on the wind. This was where he vanished.

Sir Integra watched her pet circle the missing square and sit forlornly next to it, ears hanging low and tail motionless. Lighting another cigar, the pair stayed that way until the cancer stick was nothing but dust in the wind. Then she tugged the leash, "Come along, it's time to return home."