To my readers who are popping up from my main fanfic, hello again!

To those who are just discovering my work, and this is the first time you've read something written by me, welcome!

This is more a message for those who're used to the format of my other story, this story's gonna be much different compared to that one, aight? Just consider this a tiny side project of mine: supplementary material.

Hope y'all enjoy what I've got here for you!

Lugosi Lee knew he was in deep shit when he hadn't heard from his contact earlier that day. What was supposed to be a simple exchange of money and goods in the form of 'live blood' had spiraled into a disaster. He knew he shouldn't have started dealing in human lives—he'd outlived many other vampires through far more discreet methods, after all—but he had to let that damn fool of a business partner of his talk him into trying for bigger. Fat lot of good all this business dealing with human trafficking did them now that his partner was dead—found with his head missing and a hole right where his heart was—and he was about to follow. After all, the final message he'd received from his partner before his death was basically confirmation that he was on death row…

'Hellsing has gotten involved…'

Lugosi shuffled through his bedroom, stuffing clothes and valuables into a suitcase in a panic. Hellsing, the organization in charge of hunting and killing vampires; not people he wanted to find himself standing against. If he wanted to keep his un-life, he'd have to flee the country; start over somewhere else, maybe somewhere in Italy. He'd lay low—hunt only small fry—and never deal in human trafficking ever again. He'd do anything if it meant living another day.

He swiped a wad of cash from his bedside table. Perhaps he'd charter a boat out of the country and onto Europe's mainland. He'd travel by train at that point, hopping trains to avoid being followed. He'd find a place to settle, and he'd never have to worry about anything ever again.

Shutting his suitcase before ensuring that he had enough money to take him through a couple weeks of travel, Lugosi took one final look at his bedroom before exiting. Entering his living room, he made haste to his house's entrance when he smelled something hanging in the room. The scent of cigarette smoke filled the air, emanating from somewhere behind him. Lugosi's hand hovered to the inside of his coat where his handgun was holstered, sweat drops forming on his brow.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…"

Lugosi's hand froze.

"Turn around, Mr. Lee," the stranger in his home asked, his voice surprisingly soft but containing an edge to it that told Lugosi that he'd be killed if he rebelled. Following the command, Lugosi got a good look at the intruder.

The stranger sat in his armchair; legs crossed with a cigarette between his lips. He wore a black waistcoat over a white dress shirt; his sleeves rolled up to show case his forearm's defined musculature. A matching black tie was wrapped around his neck, loosened slightly so that the last button of his collar could be left open. His black slacks matched his waistcoat, and he wore a pair of worn work boots. He had long black hair back into a messy ponytail; several strands of his silky hair hanging over his face. His eyes were gray—the color of stone—and were sharp, though his eyes were not nearly as sharp as his features.

"You were expecting someone, I take it?" the stranger asked evenly. Lugosi nodded cautiously.

"Hmm," the man hummed as he removed the cigarette from between his lips and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Probably not me; I'm not exactly the most prominent of operatives at Hellsing…"

That confirmed who he was speaking to; a Hellsing operative. Still, Lugosi was taken aback; did they expect one man to be able to handle a vampire on his own?

"By yourself?" Lugosi mustered the courage to ask. The stranger nodded.

"Hellsing isn't exactly going to send an entire platoon after one measly vampire, Mr. Lee," the man took another huff of his cigarette. "Maybe a group of vampires, but not one."

"But a single man?" Lugosi raised a brow. "Last I checked, the only operative that worked alone at Hellsing was-"

"Alucard, yes," the stranger finished for him. "Well, he was the only operative to consistently work alone… until me, of course…"

Lugosi relaxed a bit. He wasn't dealing with Alucard—count his blessings there. If the creatures that walk the night are the proverbial boogeyman for humans, then Alucard was a monster's boogeyman. He was dealing with a regular man in this situation; nothing a vampire like him couldn't handle.

"Edward Cushing, I believe that was the name of your… 'partner-in-crime', so to speak?" the stranger suddenly said. "He certainly put up a fight, but he fell nonetheless…"

Lugosi flinched. This man didn't… he couldn't have… killed Ed, not alone… right?

"Mr. Lee, Hellsing makes it a priority of keeping track of the few vampires that don't rampage across the country; high off their vampiric power," the man interlocked his fingers and leaned towards him. "We have records showing that you were turned some three decades ago; against your will, nonetheless. When it comes to those who are turned without consent, Hellsing tends to treat you lot with… sympathy. We do our best to keep your kind under wraps to ensure that you can resume your day-to-day lives without issue," the man narrowed his eyes.

"However, Hellsing does not take too kindly to those who spit in the face of our hospitality; especially considering how much of a blind eye we turn for monsters in situations such as yours," the man cracked is knuckles, causing Lugosi to wince. "Count yourself somewhat lucky that I was sent instead of Alucard; if it were him in my position, you'd be dead ten times over by now. Seeing as how I'm feeling… empathetic, to use a term, I'm willing to hear you out; what causes a tame vampire like you to deal in human lives?"

Lugosi opened his mouth to speak but realized there was no suitable excuse. He was talked into it by Ed; his partner told him that fresh blood was always better than stealing it from the blood donations. Against his better judgement, he did what he did because he thought he deserved better. Staring at the stranger sitting still on his armchair—peering at him with merciless stony eyes—Lugosi felt that there was only one way he was getting out of this situation alive.

The man wasn't visibly armed, and—as a vampire—he was faster than any normal human being.

"Can I ask you your name?" Lugosi requested. He felt somewhat bad for what he was about to do, but he'd at least learn the name of the man he was about to kill.

"Dornez," the man replied evenly. "Walter Dornez."

"Walter Dornez," Lugosi repeated, beads of sweat running down his forehead. "I'll make sure to remember your name…"

His hand whipped for his holstered gun; Lugosi moved faster than the naked eye could perceive. However, in that millisecond, the man named Walter swiped his hand through the air horizontally. The last thing Lugosi felt before the cold embrace of death was his head separating from his shoulders.

Walter stared at the crumbling form of Lugosi Lee impassively. His wires made a nice clean cut through flesh and bone; Lugosi had died instantly. The Hellsing family butler could only sigh as he got up from his seat and strode past the vampire's corpse.

"And here I was planning on letting you go…" Walter lifted his cigarette to his lips as he moved to the exit. "A pity you lost your head…"

WizardCantNameThings presents…

Hellsing's 'Walter Dornez' in…

'To Live is to Die'

"You look pleased."

"I had an easy job for once; in, out, no complications."

"That's nice to hear, you always look a bit wiped whenever you come for a drink, Walter."

"Well, I work with a lot of shambling corpses, it grates on me every now and then."

"Jeez, the people you work with must be wiped for you to call them corpses of all things…"

"Oh, you have no idea…"

Walter smirked before he took a sip of his bourbon. As a teenager, he'd always questioned why Arthur always went out for drinks—make no mistake, plural is correct. Originally, he'd chalked it up to the man's boyish penance for irresponsibility. Still, now that he himself was twenty-five—with over a decade worth of experience on and off the field as a Hellsing operative—he now understood the merit in, as his master had put it, 'drinking enough to burn out the memory of that terrible one-night stand with that one drunken whore'.

He wouldn't condone getting blackout drunk, but…

"Hey Walter."

The butler turned to the bartender—a stout man with graying brown hair, and bushy mustache, and a scar on his nose that he earned in World War I—named Gordon. Raising an inquiring eyebrow, the butler watched the older man point to the entrance of the bar. Walter smirked.

…a one-night stand was certainly not out of the question.

A fair skinned woman with fiery red hair cut into a bob walked into the bar. She wore a tan trench coat, the barest amount of her cleavage visible; her wonderfully slender legs stuffed into a pair of calf-length boots. Her emerald eyes met Walter's stony ones for a fraction of a second; her dreariness conveyed to the butler in that single glance.

Walter turned around to face Gordon.

"I can see why Arthur likes you so much…" the butler muttered. The bartender simply shrugged, shooting the younger man a knowing smile.

Walter kept his back away from the entrance, staring intently at his glass of bourbon. The butler took a long swig of the golden liquid before setting the empty glass down on the bar. Wordlessly, he stepped off the stool he was seated upon and casually wandered over to the woman that had wandered in. The woman gave him an inquisitive glance.

"You don't look the type to frequent bars," Walter commented. The woman laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh, I'm not; but after the day I've had, I might just start…" she sighed sullenly. Walter raised a brow, boyish smirk still present.

"Tough workday? Relationship troubles?" Walter chuckled.

"Yes, hit the nail right on the head…" the woman sighed. Walter's brow furrowed.

"Oh… that's, I'm sorry; would you care to talk about it?" the butler smiled, this time a bit more warmly. The woman looked at him pensively for a moment.

"God, the fact that I'm even considering telling a stranger about it all just shows how desperate I am…" she groaned. Walter chuckled.

"Dornez," he introduced. "Walter Dornez."

"Helena, Helena Fields," the woman returned. Walter grinned.

"There, now we aren't strangers," the butler commented. Helena, for the first time since she entered the bar, genuinely laughed; it was small, but it was something.

"I guess you're correct," she smiled. Walter shrugged.

"Well, I suppose I have to be at least once in a blue moon," he gestured for her to sit down. "Care to sit?"

Though she hesitated for a second, Helena opted to accept the offer and sat down at the bar. The butler promptly took the seat beside her. Wordlessly, Walter gestured for Gordon to get the two of them a drink. As always, the bartender poured him some bourbon.

"Frequent this bat enough that the bartender doesn't even need to ask what drink you want?" Helena inquired.

"You make it sound like I'm an alcoholic that spends more time at the bar than with the lovely lady waiting for me at home," Walter replied knowingly.

"You're married?" Helena lifted a brow interested. Walter took a sip of his drink before replying.

"In a manner of speaking, yes; I'm quite attached to my job," the butler smirked.

"Married to work, you say? I would assume that sort of mindset would prevent you from going out and actually finding a woman to woo," Helena returned the grin.

"On the contrary, I tend to get around; I go wherever my work demands," Walter gestured for Gordon once more. "Would you like a drink as well, Mrs. Fields?"

Helena nodded.

"I'll have some bourbon as well. You must forgive me, I'm not at all familiar with alcohol," she admitted as she was poured a glass of the golden liquid.

"You don't need to be to drink," Walter quipped. "That once again begs the question: what's a woman who doesn't seem the drinking type doing at a bar?"

Helena's grip in her glass tightened. She took a large swig of the bourbon before putting the glass down. With a sigh, she hung her head low.

"I caught my bastard of a husband with another woman..." she revealed moreosely.

"Truly? My, there really is no such thing as loyalty nowadays, is there?" Walter hummed.

"Indeed, I spend several years of my life worrying myself half to death whether he'll survive the war or not; I stay loyal to him even on the toughest days. I do everything I can for him, and he leaves me for the first whore he lays his filthy eyes upon," Helena spat. "Am I really that ugly that my own husband of five years would leave me for some younger woman barely out of school?"

Walter shrugged, before taking another sip of his bourbon.

"Perhaps it's not you, more him? I'm more inclined to believe that this husband of yours needs his eyes checked rather than think that it's because you yourself are ugly," Walter slyly placed a finger on the woman's chin, lifting her head up. "Of course, that's just me."

"You're quite the charmer, you know?" Helena smiled. Walter chuckled as he slowly traced his finger up from her chin to her check, lightly caressing it.

"Charming beautiful women like you is just one of the things I'm good at," Walter whispered amorously. "Do you want to find out what else I can do?"

Helena groaned softly as the butler ran his thumb across her soft pink lips.

"Yes..." she muttered with a quiver.

Smirking, Walter, reached into his wallet, depositing enough money to pay for himself and Helena. Standing up, the butler offered her his hand.

"Shall we, 'get to know one another', then?" Walter smirked.

Wordlessly, Helena took his hand, eager to see what the butler had to offer.

Walter glanced at his reflection in the mirror—making sure he looked as pristine as usual. Much of last night was a blur; not the best sex he's ever had if he was being honest. Still, he glanced at the still sleeping form of Helena Fields—who still lay nude under her bedsheets with a satisfied smile on her face. He strode quietly to the woman's side and parted a few strands of her rosy hair; the strands that were getting in her face.

He could tell that she only slept with him because she was desperate for a man's touch. It was obvious from the moment he saw her at the bar; frankly, her desperation was the only reason he indulged her to begin with. A disheartened young woman who obviously needed a bit of a 'pick me up', how could Walter leave her be? You don't need to be God to know what happens to miserable young women looking for a fix…

…they were targeted by vampires.

With that in mind, the butler smirked as he pulled out a few hundred

"I hate to leave you like this, but I do have work to do," Walter placed the money on her end table. "Ta…"

With that, the butler wandered out of the woman's home—a modest single bedroom apartment flat—without another word…

"Well done, Walter; you performed just as well as always."

"Would you expect anything less from me?"

Arthur Hellsing smirked as he watched Walter from across his desk. The faithful Hellsing butler and the top operative—sans Alucard of course, but that wasn't really a fair comparison—Walter had become quite the reliable agent. Found at the age of ten—an orphan living on the streets during the Great Depression—the butler already possessed a machine-like aptitude for killing when he was taken into the organization. Of course, reigning in a young boy with the power of an army at his fingertips was a challenge, but—thankfully—age seemed to temper the man.

Now, Walter Dornez was one of the finest 'weapons' within Hellsing's disposal.

"No, not at all; you've attained an immaculate record for a reason, Walter," Arthur grinned as he shuffled through the various records on his desk.

"I try my best, sir," Walter said simply.

"Oh, there's no doubt about that, you're one of the best operatives I have, my boy," Arthur chuckled. "You aren't overkill like Alucard, nor are you cannon fodder like most under my employ; you're just the right amount of 'poison' for any given mission."

"I appreciate the praise sir."

Walter didn't think himself a prideful individual—he had long grown out of that particular flaw—but even he couldn't deny the feeling of satisfaction that swept over him after a job well done. He didn't go out of his way to pursue accolades, but he wasn't about to deny them.

"Now then, my boy, there's something I wish to discuss with you," Arthur gestures for Walter to sit across from him. The butler resisted the urge to raise a brow; it wasn't often he was held up by his master. Keeping his expression blank, he strode forward—pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's this about, sir?" the butler asked. Arthur seemed to hesitate for a moment. The head of Hellsing leaned forward, chin resting on his interlocked fingers.

"What do you recall of the Nazis' 'Millennium Project'?"

Walter stiffened slightly.

"The Millennium Project?" he parroted. "It was the Nazis' attempt to create an invincible army of undead; not much else to it," he replied. Arthur hummed as he peered past Walter to check if his office doors were closed.

"Alucard and I decimated their base just little over a decade ago; there were no survivors. We burned the place to the ground—research and evidence," Walter finished.

"I know; both you and Alucard's report of that night was thorough. I've faith that you did your jobs properly, but…" the head of Hellsing trailed off.

"But?" Walter asked expectedly. Arthur sighed before continuing.

"MI-6 has contacted me regarding one of the personnel involved in the Millennium Project," he started grimly. "According to their intelligence reports, one of the head scientists on the project survived not just that night, but the fall of Nazi Germany. I presume you know the danger that leaving a loose end like that poses?"

"Yes, sir," the butler nodded.

"All it takes is one vampire for a single country to be thrown into complete disarray, and there's a mad man out there that may have the gall to create a whole army of them," Arthur growled. "MI-6 has agreed to share whatever information they have regarding this rogue Nazi whack job with the condition that one of their agents be involved in the detaining of said whack job. The detaining of these war criminals is one of their priorities."

"Not ours," Walter commented. "Knowledge of the occult is not something to take lightly. Even imprisoned—so long as this fool lives—we run the risk of the information being passed on; heaven forbid if it's actually utilized."

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Walter," Arthur smirked. "Your mission is to find this rogue Nazi and kill him. Find him, kill him, burn the evidence, and leave no witnesses; do I make myself clear, Walter?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Walter replied. "However, a thought occurs to me; if MI-6 is demanding we allow one of their own agents to accompany, there's potential that our organization's conflict of interests will… pose a problem, so to speak."

Arthur hummed thoughtfully.

"True, but you know very well that the mission must come first, regardless of who or what stands in our way," the head of Hellsing replied coldly. "If this dog of MI-6 is preventing you from completing your mission, you know what has to be done, correct?"

Walter nodded.

"Obstacles will be removed without quarter," he recited mindlessly.

"And without evidence, Walter; don't forget that," Arthur chuckled darkly.

"Naturally, sir."

Arthur clapped his hands in satisfaction, a pleased grin on his face.

"Then we've nothing left to discuss—you know your orders; search and destroy. Leave no witnesses, and make sure that not a scrap of this bastard's research survives. If you encounter anything—or anyone—that would stand in the way of completing your mission, you've permission to use whatever methods you deem necessary to remove said obstacle. Any questions?" Arthur waited expectantly.

"None, sir," Walter replied.

"Very good," the head of Hellsing slid an envelope across the desk towards Walter. "This is your passport; you'll be taking a plane to mainland Europe—France specifically. The MI-6 operative that will accompany you will meet you there. They'll brief you on the target during the train ride to Italy."

Arthur stared at Walter with narrowed eyes.

"Good luck, Walter; come back in one piece," he smirked.

"Of course, sir," Walter replied as he took the envelope containing his passport.

Standing from his chair across Arthur's desk, the butler bowed respectfully before turning on his heel and leaving. Closing the office door, the butler considered the envelope in his hand briefly before pocketing it. This would be his first big mission since the scuffle involving the Millennium project. He wasn't going to botch this one up; he was determined not to.

Crossing the Hellsing Estate, the butler pondered what sort of mission this would end up being. Heaven forbid this from becoming wild goose chase, or even a simple exchange of bullets; he wanted a challenge for once. It had been far too long sine he had any mild difficulty in anything. He wanted some excitement, and he was going to get it.

Reaching his room, he grabbed a briefcase and began to run through his wardrobe, carefully folding the clothes he was going to bring with him. Dress shirts, waistcoats, pants and ties; he packed his attire.

"Going somewhere, Angel of Death?"

Walter didn't lift his head from his briefcase at the pressure of a familiar presence. The air chilled—dropping at least a good ten degrees—though the butler barely paid the change any mind.

"No, I'm packing my clothes into a briefcase for the hell of it, Alucard," Walter quipped. "What do you want?"

The vampire looked over him, peering down on him with his blood red eyes. Intimidating was hardly the most apt descriptor for the monster; panic-inducing was closer to accurate. Still, the ancient nosferatu—the progenitor of all vampires—hardly made Walter bat an eye; he wasn't about to make him shiver.

"I was simply interested in knowing about this oh so important mission you've been given," Alucard purred, his baritone voice surrounding the butler.

"If you're so interested, ask Arthur yourself. If you've been a good boy, he'll throw you a bone to chew on like the dog you are," Walter promptly shut his suitcase.

"Scathing, aren't we?" Alucard chuckled, amused by the insult. "I'd ask the master, but he's decided to raise the wards in his office; I can't even stand within a foot of the room."

It was Walter's turn to chuckle.

"Perhaps that should serve as some indication that you're on a 'need to know' basis when it comes to this particular mission," Walter pulled out another suitcase for him stuff some more of his belongings into. "As such, why don't you do me a favor and get out of my room."

"Such a cold shoulder. What have I done to justify such harsh treatment?" Alucard feigned despair, though his ever-present toothy grin betrayed him. "Here I am trying to make idle conversation with you like a friend, and your response is pure derision. However are you going to find a wife with such an attitude?"

Walter snapped at the vampire, clicking his teeth in annoyance as he ran his wires through the vampire. Blood splattered across his already crimson carpets as Alucard was halved—split at his torso.

"Temper temper, I can't even joke around with you," the vampire laughed, his two halves mending back together within seconds.

"I'm not in the mood, Alucard!" the butler snapped. "Get it through your thick skull already and leave my room!"

Alucard laughed in response, but obliged, nonetheless.

"I will miss you dearly when you leave, Angel of Death…" the vampire chuckled before fading into the wall behind him.

As soon as Alucard was gone, Walter took a deep breath through his nose and sighed. He couldn't wait to be out of the mansion and away from the bastard vampire. He could only handle so much of the monster before wanting to wring the monster's neck.

Still wouldn't kill him though… Walter thought to himself. Loathe Alucard as much as he did, Walter would never think of killing the monster. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud—twisted as it was—he and Alucard were the closest things to friends they had.

"Some time away from the bastard will do me some good…" Walter muttered under his breath as he packed away the final article of clothing in his second suitcase before shutting it. "Heaven knows that he's just one slight away from earning my permanent contempt…"

Walter laughed mirthlessly. What a tragedy it would be, the day he hated Alucard enough to try to kill him. Still, he doubted such a day would come.

The flight to France was relatively uneventful. Walter traveled in economy class, much to his distaste, and barely caught a wink of sleep as a result. He was hoping that the train ride to Italy would be better, but he wasn't holding his breath. After all, he'd be meeting the MI-6 agent that would be accompanying him for the duration of the mission, and he certainly wasn't going to be sleeping through the briefing.

Boarding the train, he made his way to the dining car and waited patiently for his 'partner' to appear. For the sake of looking presentable, he opted for black suit jacket instead of his usual dark waistcoat and tied his hair back more cleanly—nary a strand out of place.

"May I get you something to drink, sir?" a professional looking waitress asked.

"No, not at the moment; I'm waiting for someone, and I prefer not to start without them," Walter replied simply. "I'll call for you when I'm ready."

The waitress nodded before moving on, leaving Walter to sit alone. The butler craned his head towards the window, watching the scenery rush past the train. Vibrant green fields with tiny cottages dotting the surrounding hill tops. Briefly, Walter pondered what it would be like to live in such a peaceful locale. Settling down, living a life away from hunting and killing the undead; he resisted laughing aloud. It was a ludicrous idea, but one he'd just considered—if only for a moment.

"I'd sooner drop dead…" he murmured to himself as he watched the tiny cottages fade into the distance, the train speeding away from them.

"Mr. Walter Dornez?"

Walter craned his head to the address the speaker. It was a woman. She was a young woman in her twenties—curly chocolate hair tied into a bun and almond shaped eyes the color of ripe olives—with skin white as snow, and the curves of a bottle. She was dressed provocatively enough; her white collared shirt was unbuttoned enough that the smallest trace of her cleavage was visible, and her skirt ended just an inch or two above the knees—only just enough of her slender legs visible to whet a man.

"Depends on who's asking…" Walter—though briefly taken aback by the sudden company—smirked.

The woman took the seat across from him, stretching out her hand for him to shake.

"Alina Evangeline; I'm your partner," she stated, her tone very business-like.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I do mean that…" Walter took her hand and shook it; the butler noted her grip to be firm, a respectable grip that only the most professional managed. Releasing his grip, he waited for her to continue speaking.

Alina grabbed her bag and swiftly pulled out a manilla folder from within. Wordlessly, she laid it flat on the table, though she didn't open it.

"Before I divulge any information, I would like to know how much you know; it'll give me an idea of how much I need to explain," she began. Walter hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, I was informed by my superior that we're searching for a war criminal; one that escaped Germany in 1945. I know that he was involved in the 'Millennium Project'—a project that I myself had a hand in ending—and that this person is currently hiding out in Italy. That's all I was informed of, so I hope that you can 'enlighten my ignorant self' on the details."

Alina smirked in amusement, or perhaps a veil to hide her distaste; Walter couldn't tell. Either way, she proceeded to open the folder up, it's contents spilling out across the table. Water noted the pictures were all of one man; the target, he presumed.

"The man you're seeing is one Doctor Wilhelm Von Sterben, a barely known researcher that was involved in the even lesser known 'Millennium Project'," Alina began. "Extracted from Germany between the dates of April 20th to May 1st of 1945, it's believed he escaped Germany alongside others involved in the project. However, unlike other officers, he chose to stay in Italy—he was specifically sighted in Genoa."

"You believe that there are more members of the project alive and still at large?" Walter inquired.

"MI-6 has reasons to believe so, yes," Alina replied emphatically. "As I said however, Sterben was the only one sighted in Italy; the rest are believed to have been extracted into South America, though we're still not certain."

Walter's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he looked down at the image of Dr. Sterben. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"I'm guessing that you're hoping to capture Sterben so that you can question him on the possible whereabouts of his associates," he stated aloud. Alina nodded.

"It's a lead that MI-6 needs to take," she replied simply.

That certainly complicated things. Walter's orders were to 'silence' Sterben, regardless of whatever obstacles stand in his way, however, being able to locate more possible members of the 'Millennium Project' seemed the more fruitful route. He'd certainly have to phone Arthur and inform him of this.

"So, we capture Dr. Sterben, interrogate him, and find out where his compatriots are holed up," Walter listed. Alina nodded once more.

"That's the plan, yes," she confirmed. Walter chuckled at how absurdly simple it was—as if it would be.

"Do you even know what we're dealing with? What you're dealing with?" Walter rolled his eyes. "You lot—MI-6—shouldn't get involved with this sort of trouble; it's far above your pay grade."

Alina gave him a scathing glare, though her confident smirk remained.

"If you're referring to the fact that Wilhelm Von Sterben was involved in the 'occult', make no mistake, my organization knows," she stated haughtily. "I'm going to assume your 'concern' stems from a lack of faith in MI-6 rather than a lack of faith in me personally; I can at least give you the benefit of the doubt."

Water laughed a bit louder.

"Unless you give me reason not to, I'll view you as competent," the butler assured. "I'm just wondering, do you even know what the Millennium Project' was?"

"No," Alina shook her head. "But perhaps you can 'enlighten my ignorant self," she smiled slyly. Walter scoffed, finding her amusing.

"If you don't mind long winded explanations, I suppose I'll tell you," Walter began. "The Millennium Project was the Nazi's attempt at achieving their goal of a one-thousand-year Reich; an entire empire made up of immortal—nigh unkillable—vampires."

"Sounds more like the contents of myth and legend than an actual legitimate project; the work of some strange fiction writer," Alina commented, earning another scoff from Walter.

"Yes, but this story is unfortunately not myth," the butler continued. "Hitler was obsessed with proving his 'master race' was undeniably the most superior of mankind; regardless of how egotistical—or blatantly moronic—his view was. It's the reason why he siphoned resources into archeological goose chases. Of course, to call Hitler a fool and leave it at that is as foolish as turning your back to a hungry lion; crazy as he was, he was still a genius. Even if the German people's racial superiority was false, Hitler knew that the heights he spoke of could eventually be attained; most notably through the occult."

"Hellsing has no idea of when and how he obtained knowledge of the existence of vampires, we just know that when he did, a project was immediately started with the intent of eventually turning the whole of Germany. First, he'd create an invincible army of undead; an army that could never hope to be opposed by the common man. Second, the conversion process would be made available to those deemed worthy of 'superiority'. One-by-one, Germany would become a country of immortals; an artificial 'master race'," Walter narrowed his eyes. "To make his vision a reality, he placed only the most brilliant of minds on the project; minds that were willing to commit moral atrocities for the name of progression. Name the sin and they probably committed it," Walter noted the stony expression Alina bore. He smirked.

"Forgive me, does this information make you uncomfortable?" the butler chuckled.

"Perhaps if I was some green amateur that hadn't heard—or seen—her own fair share of hell, I would be. Is there anything else you wish to brief me on regarding the 'Millennium Project'?" Alina gave him a contentious smile. Walter regarded her for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nothing that I deem necessary to divulge," he conceded.

"If that's the case, then I suppose that concludes business," Alina swiftly began to pack away the contents of the manila folder, putting the file back into her handbag for later. "Dinner?" she asked, though she seemed far more focused on the folder than Walter.

"I'd love some."

The next hour or so of the train ride was mostly silent, the two agents more focused on their food than each other. Solitary as he was, Walter found the silence nearly maddening. Throughout the meal, he silently hoped Alina would initiate conversation, but the agent seemed determined to remain quiet.

"So…?" Walter broke the silence. Alina hummed as she stared at him from across the table.

"So what?" she raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. The butler briefly considered a number of questions he could ask to initiate conversation.

Where are you from?

What's your birthday?

Have you ever snapped a man's neck before? I have.

They were all terrible, but one question did stick inside Walter's mind.

"How does a young woman like yourself come to be a field agent for MI-6?" he asked with genuine curiosity. Alina furrowed her brow briefly.

"The same way that everyone else becomes an agent: hard work," she replied simply.

"Really? There has to be something more to it, right?" Walter pressed. "Most people don't wake in the morning, look at the sun in the sky, and say 'I'm going to join British secret service in the name of queen and country. Most people elect to maintain mundanity for the sake of some misplaced sense of safety; rarely do we find people willing to live life on the line like you and I."

"Is that so?" Alina smiled as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Forgive me, but am I to believe that you've an issue with those who settle for boorish everyday life?"

There's an opening, Walter thought as he shook his head.

"Not at all, just pointing out that you're 'one in a million'," the butler smirked. Alina raised a brow, her smile becoming cheekier.

"Was that your attempt at a… pick-up line?"

"Oh, you wound me," Walter feigned. "If I were actually flirting with you, I dare say we'd have retreated to our cabin ten minutes ago…"

To Walter's pleasure, the chocolate-haired woman didn't visibly blush. She simply elected to sit back and smile at him with that cheeky smile of hers.

"Then I suppose I'm lucky that you aren't," Alina began. "You know what they say: there truly are worse fates than death."

Walter chuckled at the barb.

"Oh, I like you," he swirled the wine in his glass. "Seems like I've met my match, at least when it comes to the exchanging of words," the butler conceded, causing Alina to harrumph victoriously.

"Still, you never answered my question: why join MI-6? There are thousands of other things you could do with your life, why risk cutting it short?"

Alina hummed at the question. Walter knew that she had deflected the question earlier but played along—mostly because he felt like indulging her for a bit. Still, he was genuinely curious; a woman as beautiful as her ending up working as an agent with a… license to kill? Walter was unsure what agents were allowed to do, he just knew that it differed from being under Hellsing's employ. One way or another, he was getting his answer.

"I'll tell you what," Alina started, her olive eyes meeting his stony ones. "You tell me how a man comes to hunt mythological creatures straight out of a horror novel, and I may consider telling you how a woman in her early twenties comes to join British intelligence."

"An eye for an eye?" Walter's brow furrowed. Alina shook her head.

"I'd say 'equivalent exchange' is more accurate a term," she corrected. Walter shrugged. What could he reveal?

Scratch that, what did he feel like revealing?

"I'm curious what you think," Walter replied after some thought. "You've probably already formulated some strange hypothesis on who I am and why I do the things I do. Indulge me for a second, and let's hear what you think; what dark and troubled past do you suppose a man that hunts monsters has?"

"Seeing as how you specifically bring up 'dark and troubled', I assume that you don't have the most wonderful of backgrounds," Alina replied briskly, briefly taking Walter off guard. "Normally I'd assume former criminal, seeing as how you seem the sort to make light of death and murder."

"Death and murder are just part of the job," Walter smirked.

"Proving my point, I see," Alina smile seemed to edge closer to a sneer. "However, you're far too… 'charming' to have been a former criminal. The way you carry yourself, it's with the sort of discipline that can only have been built up over years. Either you're a soldier who fought in the war or you were taken into the Hellsing Organization early on in your life; early enough for them to beat some discipline into you and for it to stick."

Walter kept silent, though his smile souring slightly told Alina that she'd hit close to the mark.

"How old were you when you were taken in?"

"Young enough that my earliest memories were of the Hellsing Mansion," the butler replied honestly.

"Orphan," Alina stated smugly. "You were trained from an early age and whipped into shape—probably quite literally. Even if you hadn't just confirmed my hypothesis, I'd gathered enough from your idle comments on vampires to realize that they were very much integrated into your life; you treat something that ought be fiction as if it were fact. It's like how the Hitler trained his Nazis to kill; tell them from an early age that something is true, and they'll believe it for the rest of their lives. Indoctrination," she finished, proud of her apt reading of Walter's character. The butler, however, was not so amused.

"Now that you've 'thoroughly' discerned my past, perhaps it's only fair that you tell me about yours," Walter did his best to maintain the amused smirk on his face, lest he betray his discontent.

"Now who said that I was going to tell you that?" Alina scoffed, grinning coyly. "I said I'd only consider telling you, not that I would. It'll take far more than a charming smile and a half-decent face to get me to open up like that. Besides, you made me guess, so it's only fair if you do too"

Walter smirked—though his narrowed eyes betrayed his discontent.

"Very well…" Walter sighed as he began his analysis. "They say that 'it takes one to know one', so the fact that you went straight to orphan earlier even when you said it yourself that there was a probability that I was simply a soldier from the war turned monster hunter says that you're probably one yourself. That barely hidden disdain for a me—even though we've only known each other for a hours at best—seems to be you projecting. I could guess that it's simply because you hate men in general, but that would be a stretch, so it's simply a certain type of man; a type that I seem to remind you of," the butler's face was stony as he watched Alina shift in her seat uncomfortably.

"Orphaned, but not taken in like I was, I have to guess that your past is a troubled one; somehow involving men that act similarly to how I act towards you. If I had to guess, whatever happened drastically affected how you viewed the world—your priorities by extension. It was something terrible, so terrible that you vowed to root out every evil like it, which is why you ended up joining MI-6: so you could exact vengeance on 'evil'."

It was Walter's turn to feel smug, as Alina's expression soured. She quickly hid her displeasure behind a thin grin, but that did little to change the fact that Walter had gotten to her.

"You're right, I do hate men like you," Alina replied evenly. "Men with egos the size of skyscrapers who think that they're somehow entitled to everyone's respect based solely on the fact that they think themselves superior. You're the kind of man that disgusts me; someone who seems determined to get under my skin thinking that somehow it'll get me to spread my legs."

"Which you'd already have done if 'wooing' you were my intention."

"Proving my point again," Alina glared. "Mr. Dornez, let me be forward and say that I'm only tolerating your quips because we are partnered in this endeavor. If I had the choice of partner, you can be certain that you'd be far at the bottom of people I'd ever consider working with, but—because my superiors say so—I've put aside my distaste for you in favor of hunting down a known war criminal." Alina gave Walter an icy stare.

"Give me reason to plant a bullet between your legs, and I'll plant two; am I clear, Mr. Dornez?"

"Crystal," The corner of Walter's lip tipped upward.

"Good…" Alina huffed, easing up slightly. Her icy glare defrosted slightly as she stared down at her empty plate.

"Though, I will admit…" she sighed, glancing up at Walter; head still tilted down. "Your powers of deduction are impressive, Mr. Dornez. I'll admit that much…"

Walter chuckled, humming as he raised his wine glass.

"Slightly less impressive than yours, Mrs. Evangeline," he complimented. "I look forward to working with you."

Alina considered the gesture of goodwill for a second before taking her wine glass and raising it as well. Her coy smile returning, she hummed as they clinked glasses.

"And I with you, Mr. Dornez."

I've had the idea of writing a story involving Walter a la spy film for awhile now, and am only just getting to it. This isn't going to be very long, I don't think it'll be more than ten chapters—I doubt it'll be much longer than eight, honestly. I don't have much else to say other than thanks for reading.