"This is the armory?" Seras asked in disbelief as she stared out the driver's window of the bus. Driving wasn't so hard; in fact, with no traffic on the streets it was nearly easier than driving a regular car, save one harrowing moment where they tried to cross a pile of debris and the bus nearly tipped backwards. "It says gelato." And true enough, the storefront window did read "Gelato di Gina: 10 New Flavor!" in bright, colorful lettering along with a painted image of a plump, motherly sort of woman in a head-kerchief holding a bowl of gelato.

"That's for the tourist's benefit," Heinkel explained as she motioned for Seras to park. "What are we supposed to put on the sign? "Vatican's Secret Ammunition Supply"?" she laughed as she forced the doors open and hopped out of the bus, her face showing relief at being on solid ground. The entire drive had been filled with an exotic mixture of German, Italian, and English curses every time Seras turned a sharp corner or pushed the gas pedal to the floor in an attempt to clear fallen buildings.

"Well, it certainly would have fooled me," Seras admitted as they walked inside, a bell tinkling merrily. The "gelato shoppe" hadn't been affected by the explosion too badly; the smaller buildings on this side of town had been sheltered by the larger Church buildings and had remained nearly intact, save a cracked windowpane or two.

The inside of the store looked as innocent as the outside, with its striped wallpaper and white wainscoting. The whitewashed counter gave way to an open freezer with a clear lid, signs plastered along the top listing flavors in Italian and English. Pictures of children enjoying various frozen treats decorated the walls. Seras walked across the tiled floor to the freezer, but when she looked down inside it was empty, and the metal inside gleamed like it was brand new. Looking around, she noted that the tile wasn't scuffed in any place, and the tables were covered in dust, though not enough to arouse suspicion should someone peer inside through the window.

Heinkel pointed out a door behind the counter that read "Employees Only". She opened it and Seras was surprised when they came face to face not with a storeroom, but with a large safe door, like the kind used in banks. Heinkel typed in a combination, fingers moving almost habitually over the keypad, and a flap in the safe door opened. She then dug around in her pocket and found an ID card, which she swiped. The tumblers turned with a well-oiled click-clack and the door unlatched with a hiss, revealing a very narrow, steep set of cement stairs.

"The actual armory is deep underground," she said, ushering Seras in ahead of her and closing the wooden door, and then the safe door. The lights were on in the stairwell, to Seras' surprise, but Heinkel answered her question before she was even able to ask. "It has its own generator underground too, because some of the weapons need to have a stable air temperature. If it gets too hot or too cold, the whole thing could blow, and that wouldn't be good."

They descended in silence; their boots were muffled on the cement, and while Seras could hear the slow creak of the lights on the wires overhead, she knew the sound was too high-pitched for human ears. They reached the bottom quickly and the corridor twisted and turned until it forked. Heinkel pointed towards the left one.

"The right leads to a drainage ditch," she said, once again answering Seras' unspoken query. "We've never had a break in, but it doesn't hurt to have a few traps just in case." They went down the left fork and turned again, and Seras saw the light become brighter up ahead. A third turn showed an open door at the end of the hall, and Heinkel stopped with a puzzled frown. Seras paused too, turning to look at the woman over her shoulder. Before she could speak, she heard a faint masculine voice.

"… thirteen and two and twelve; that makes exactly nineteen-hundred and thirty eight boxes of high-grade explosive shells." Heinkel's expression moved from disbelief to irritation to relief, all in the span of a few seconds. She waved her hand for Seras to move forward, and they crept to the door.

Seras stepped through the threshold first, standing in the brighter light of the room. She looked up, mouth dropping. She hadn't realized that when Heinkel said armory, she had meant armory. The walls had to have been three stories high at least, with balconies built around the upper edges and rolling ladders placed at strategic points throughout the room. It was a veritable warehouse—Hellsing's armory was nothingto this!

Looking closer, she could see the labels on the rows upon rows of shelving that held the weapons and their ammo. She glanced at the rows nearest her and gazed at the nameplates with amazement: Automated rifles—Electric Arsenal, Expertise Weaponry—Grenades, Handheld Canons—Late 18th Century handguns, Lycan Paraphernalia—Twin Barrel Mechanics, and that was just four shelving units out of hundreds… no—thousands!

A thump to her left had her looking over to see a man bent over a clipboard, scribbling away as he stood beside neat stacks of index-card sized boxes that reached high above his head. He was only a little taller than herself, gangly with a very thin neck that looked liable to snap at any moment. He wore the dark clothes and glasses of the Vatican Special Forces, but the spectacles had slipped down his nose and showed bright brown eyes focused intently on whatever he was writing. He had blonde hair that was neatly combed and parted, save for a cowlick just above his left eye.

She moved, her clothes rustling, and he looked up at her. His pencil ceased its scratching, hand poised above the board, and he froze. She could see his pupils dilate in shock, eyes widening almost imperceptibly. She heard his heart skip a beat and then speed up, and she saw the color change in his skin, draining from his cheeks as the blood rushed to his limbs instead. She saw it all with a wave of something very close to revulsion, knowing that it was her enhanced predatory senses at work.

"Good gracious me!" he exclaimed after a moment's stare-off with her. "I do believe it's a vampire!" He looked up at the ceiling, his glasses slipping back up his nose with the action. "Nocturnal creatures—tier three, two shelves over, nine back. Oh dear, oh dear…." Seras moved back, sensing his discomfort, and Heinkel pushed her way into the room just as another man slid down a nearby ladder.

Seras realized with a start that the other man was the blonde's mirror image… well, almost. The face, thin neck, cowlick—it was all there, bit for bit. The only noticeable difference was the presence of facial hair: the pale sideburns were just a little longer, a sparse mustache growing on the upper lip, stubble spread across his chin and jaws. He walked up to the other, and she could see they were clearly identical twins.

"What's it?" he asked, his voice automatically sounding grave where the other was a bit more freehearted. "Vampire?" The clean-shaven twin pointed and he looked to see Heinkel, his brow knitting before he blew a sharp exhale, his cowlick quivering from the breath. "You dummy. That's just that girl Heinkel Wolfe."

"'s not who I saw before," the other protested, but looked unsure as he adjusted his glasses on his nose again. "Ello, Heinkel Wolfe," he added after a moment, though the cheer was still overshadowed by uncertainty.

"What are you two doing here?" she asked brusquely as Seras entered the room again. The twin with the five o'clock shadow's eyebrows rose as he took in her uniform and red eyes, but he wisely didn't comment on Heinkel's companion. Instead, he exchanged a glance with his twin and they moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, advancing a step as if to push the women out of the room.

"Inventory," they answered simultaneously.

"And we'd appreciate it if you came back later," the clean-shaven one added. "We'd rather—"

"No, we'd rather not have to recount because you've taken things out," the other finished. Heinkel sputtered a moment and then ran a hand through her hair, scowling.

"Do you dummies not know what's going on above your head?!" she hissed. "How long have you been down here?! The City's being blown up as we speak!" Both blinked at her uncomprehendingly, and then looked at each other.

"What day is it?" the hairy one finally asked.

"Friday!" Heinkel barked impatiently, arms crossed. The twins laughed at the same time, their voices rising and falling in pitch with the other.

"Ha-ha!" the clean-shaven one chortled. "Very funny! It's only Wednesday! You shouldn't—"

"You shouldn't joke about that sort of thing," the other said as he stopped his laughter abruptly.

"I'm not joking!"

"She's telling the truth," Seras added, speaking up for the first time. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket; she'd been checking it, but the cellular towers had to have been down from the power outage and explosions. She didn't have any signal whatsoever, but that didn't stop the calendar from working. She showed them the date on the digital screen, and they both blanched with matching expressions of disbelief.

"My God!" the hairy one yelled. The clean-shaven one seemed more taken aback than anything else.

"We've been down here for two days…." He paused, looking up at the boxes. "No wonder we've been making such good time."

"We've been making horrible time if it's been two days!" the other corrected angrily. His twin made a sound of agreement and then his face scrunched.

"They didn't even send anyone down to check on us!" he proclaimed with a frown. "We could have been dead, and they just forgot all about us!"

"There's a damn war going on up there! Of course they'd have forgotten about you!" Heinkel broke in.

"I bet they didn't hear the Siren song because they were so deep underground for so long," Seras pointed out. The twins looked at her strangely, clearly confused as to what she meant. "And they probably didn't feel the explosions, either."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" the hairy one asked. Seras held out a hand.

"Seras Victoria," she introduced herself. "I'm here with the Hellsing Organization—well, I was, but everything that's happened has kind of gotten us all off track." The clean-shaven one reached for her hand, shaking it in a firm grasp. She could nearly feel the individual bones in his fingers. Well, if they can stay in one place for two days without eating, it's no wonder they're both such gaunt blokes, she thought.

"I'm Lorenzo Mancinni. And this is my older twin, Leonardo," he said in a chipper tone as he let go, though the other didn't take her hand and after a moment she had no choice but to let it drop.

"Hellsing—Isn't that part of the Royal Order of Protestant Knights?" he asked callously, brown eyes burning into hers over the rims of his dark glasses. Seras met his gaze evenly.

"Yes, it is." Leonardo's lips tightened, but he said no more. Lorenzo looked between the two, his smile widening nervously, and then stepped over to Heinkel.

"So, I suppose it's not too safe topside at the moment, is it?"

"Obviously," she quipped. "That's why I'm here for some backup ammunition. A few boxes of bullets, some grenades, two or three other guns…." She paused, thinking. "Yew arrows, a flamethrower or something like it, do we have anything else made of wood?" The twin scratched his head.

"I think we have some wooden stakes in the Vampire section," he replied with a wary glance at Seras. "And I know we have a few splintered crosses in the back that someone threw in here rather than in cold storage where it belongs," he added with a disapproving frown. "I'm hungry," he said suddenly, as if just now realizing it. "I guess we'll come with you. After all, you'll need help loading all that up in your-?"

"We took the bus," Heinkel mumbled, and both twins grimaced. Seras frowned as well, starting to wonder what had happened on that bus to make everyone hate it so badly. She couldn't think of anything wrong with it, other than it being old. "It's probably a good idea that you come with us, actually," she continued as she walked towards the shelving marked "Handheld Artillery Ammunition".

"Yeah, nearly everyone else has been brainwashed by the Sirens," Seras said when she rounded the corner and disappeared from view. The twins looked surprised.

"Siren?" they looked at each other, then back at Seras.

"Sorry, we're not… you mean the monsters, right?" Lorenzo asked hesitantly. "We're actually part of the Accounting Agency, so we don't deal in the same expertise as Iscariot. We're just here sorting through inventory to make sure their budget accounts add up the way they're supposed to," he explained sheepishly.

"That's right. The Sirens were singing, but you probably couldn't hear it underground. It didn't affect me because I'm a vampire," she saw them both cringe at the word, but chose to ignore it, "and it only affects virgins, so—" She broke off at the look on their faces, realizing that she must have said too much. The twins looked at the place where Heinkel disappeared, their eyebrows rising comically high. Suddenly, the younger began to laugh, a hand clapping over his mouth to muffle the escaping sounds. The elder had the decency to act more mature about it, but Seras saw the corner of his mouth twitching as well when he thought she had turned away for a moment.

"Alright, everyone start grabbing boxes and let's get this upstairs before someone finds that bus," Heinkel ordered in a no-nonsense manner, combing back with her arms loaded with boxes of bullets and guns. She stopped when she saw the twins, one glaring sternly at the other, who was nearly doubled over trying to keep his laughter in. "What?" she asked. Seras and Leonardo both shook their head with assuaging murmurs, and he quickly began to take the boxes from her hands while she searched for something larger to carry it all in.

The glow of fire from the City could be seen at Italy's coastline. The human population was frantic—no one could get in touch with the Pope or his staff, any military forces sent within the walls of the City wasn't heard from again, and the entire night had been a government fiasco. The Italian officials tore out their hair in a frenzy; the newscasters were calling it an overt act of terrorism, all eyes were pointed at them, and they had no clue as to who had attacked the Vatican, how they managed to get in, and why such an attack had been ordered in the first place.

But while they sweated beneath the news lights and gave their best fake-smiles for the camera, lying through their teeth that the whole thing was under control, that His Holiness was alive and well, that they had secure leads as to who had caused this travesty, and that their armed forces were already hard at work reestablishing infrastructure—in reality, the ones who knew (or guessed) the most were not the humans at all.

In a luxurious Venetian mansion, a human servant dashed down the marble halls in her bare feet, still wearing her nightclothes. She rounded the corner and threw open the double doors that led to the bath, which was more of a swimming pool in terms of size. Behind a folding screen adorned with images of grapevines, two harp players set the mood with gentle music. The water lapped at the stairs surrounding the bath.

"Nobildonna!" the servant girl hastily bowed as she addressed the naked figure reclining in the bath. The woman's magenta eyes lazily opened and she regarded the little girl with an emotionless frown. She pushed her humidity-curled raven locks behind her shoulders and tilted her head, one hand rising from the water. Immediately, a waiting servant pressed a silver goblet into the palm and she took a dainty sip.

"Sí?" she finally answered, clearly showing all that she took things at her own leisure, and had no qualms about making the clearly-harried servant wait an extra moment.

"Il Vaticano… it has fallen! My Signore Gaspare has sent Signora this letter." She handed it over with another bow, sinking to her knees with downcast eyes. The woman, who upon hearing the news had sat up in the water with widened eyes, took the letter and looked quickly at the wax seal upon the back before breaking it and reading the letter hastily.

Dolcezza mia,

Rest assured that all is well for me at this moment. I write this only to keep you from worrying so when you hear the news. The Vatican is, at this point, little more than a few broken buildings and scattered bones. The Sirene have destroyed nearly everything. The United Roman Legion has sent most of the delegates back home, but a few Nosferatu do remain to see what can be done.

Of course, a message has been sent to His Majesty the King detailing the events of the night. As his former Childe is currently residing in the Vatican City on business, I am more than certain that he already knows: If my own dear Callidora was in the City, I would have watched the borders with hawk's eyes. Nevertheless, we await orders as His Majesty's faithful soldiers.

I will write again when I learn more. As of now, our chief concern is the Sirene moving into Rome and going against the government there. Our own lives would be at stake—the humans respect us, but I'm worried that their innate fear will overpower better judgement in days to come. Domenico speaks of asking the seafolk for help, but I highly doubt that Muirgheal wishes to deal with more "landloper" affairs than she must. They certainly know how to distance themselves from politics, those mermaids.

I hope my letter finds you as well as I left you. Stay at home—stay alert. Send me a response when you have a moment, but for God's sake, don't use Archimedes. We've heard through the grapevine that Edothei's three daughters are leading the Sirene, and the eldest is more than sharp enough to see owls frequenting the sky and make a connection. We need to keep her out of the loop—send word by pigeon, if you can. If not, I think a lark should do just as well.

I remain your loving husband and devoted servant,

Sig. Gaspare di Mocenigo

When she finished reading, she clutched the letter to her breast, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and then motioned for a servant.

"Fetch my paper and ink, quickly." The woman murmured assent and all but ran for the door in order to gather her mistress's things. "Oh, that he would just come home for once!" she groaned. "He'll get himself killed on the front lines yet, Marta."

"My lord is loyal to his causes, Signora," Marta, who was still kneeled, replied boldly. Though only a whelp of twelve, the lady of the house liked her and allowed her to take certain liberties. "His Majesty the King couldn't ask for a better soldier."

"So he has said, on occasion," the woman replied proudly. "Still, if he were to die, I'd walk into the sun without a moment's hesitation…. Oh, Gaspare," she murmured as the servant came back with the proper letter-writing utensils. She flipped over in the bath to lean against the rim and write, taking care to keep her tears of worry from seeping onto the page and smearing her ink.

A laughing owl soared silently over the English countryside, solemn despite its namesake. Its large orbs searched for its target and suddenly it dropped, swooping low across the tree line and circling the manor once, twice before expertly dipping through an open window near the ground. It flew into the basement room, landing on the rafters and blinking before moving to land lightly on the arm of the chair—no, throne, for that was no mere chair, with the scarlet cushions and gilded sides.

The owl clicked its beak, holding out its leg and waiting for the tiny roll to be pulled off its leg. When nothing happened, the owl looked up impatiently at the man in the chair. He was slumped over, sleeping soundly, surrounded on all sides by empty packets of plastic. The owl took no notice of the clutter, only watching the man for signs that he would accept the roll of parchment. When nothing happened, it clicked its beak in annoyance and pecked the center of the pentagram drawn on the stark white glove.

It continued to peck until the fingers twitched and the man let out a low groan, shifting in the chair. When the man's eyes didn't open, it hooted loudly, fluttering its wings as if saying "Excuse me! Down here!" Its efforts were rewarded with an irate crimson gaze as the man finally roused himself, rubbing one hand over his forehead.

"The first time I can actually sleep without people talking in my mind, and I can't even enjoy it," he grumbled, but obligingly unwrapped the note from the owl's leg. It gave him the most derisive look an owl can muster before hopping along the armrest to stand at the end and look at itself in the reflection of the decanter sitting on the end table.

The man unrolled the note and read it through twice, his eyebrows bunching closer and closer with each word. He looked at the far wall, something akin to bewilderment flitting across his face before he slowly inclined his head, ear towards the ceiling. The owl noticed and copied the gesture until its head was sideways as well, hooting questioningly. Suddenly, the man stood, shadows swirling around him and covering him like a moving blanket. He appeared from the murky darkness dressed in red, slipping a pair of sunglasses on his head.

"Wait here," he ordered the owl, which blinked once and then spread its wings, flying to the rafters and tucking a head under its wing. The man stuffed the note inside his coat pocket and vanished out of sight, leaving only a swirl of mist and the faintest aura of unease.

"Walter, is there something you'd like to tell me?" The butler jerked in surprise and turned on his heel, eyes wide and fingers twisting habitually though there were no wires to manipulate. When he saw that it was only Alucard, he breathed a sigh of relief and frowned.

"For God's sake, Alucard! I'm too old for you to be scaring me like that; one of these days you'll pop out of the wallpaper and I'll drop dead of a heart attack!" he scolded sharply, shaking his head. "I haven't the time for you tonight anyhow. I've got to gather the Knights and besides that—"

"My master and my servant are in grave danger, and you neglected to tell me," Alucard cut in, dismissing the man's anger. He felt an unnatural fury bubbling beneath his skin. He hardly ever got this angry—it was true that he was impatient and short-tempered, but he never quite reached this point, where he was truly considering teaching the butler a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. He felt more for Walter than the barely-tolerated soldiers swarming the house day and night, but the man wasn't above getting a taste of his rage if it were merited.

"I didn't tell you because I haven't gathered all the information yet," Walter replied shortly, brushing past the vampire and into Integra's office. He clicked the computer mouse once and snarled under his breath when nothing happened on the screen. "The Italian press has been fed the wrong information, naturally, but I can't seem to get in touch with my contacts in the Vatican. The phone lines are dead, my emails are unanswered, and from the newsfeed it looks like the entire place was up in flames only a few short hours ago."

Alucard followed his gaze to the television screen, which had been rolled in on a trolley and was now sitting with an antenna leaning haphazardly off the side, fully extended. The fuzzy picture showed the 24 hour newsfeed, which was flickering between the English newswoman speaking with an Italian representative and shots of what looked to be a war-torn city. The favored shot was one of a cathedral ablaze, it seemed. The scrolling text at the bottom proclaimed that the Pope whereabouts were unknown, the Italian government was under fire for hiding the truth, the damages to the City were immeasurable due to the priceless works of art housed in the Church's walls, and many countries were threatening war if something were to happen to their ambassadors while on Italian soil.

"I'm sure you realize the gravity of the situation," Walter said when he caught the expression on the ancient vampire's face. "If I only knew what we were up against… Seras will protect Sir Integra, I'm sure. But if—"

"Sirens." Alucard turned away from the screen before he punched a hole through it. Yes, the Police Girl would perform her duties until the last, protecting their master. But who would be there to protect her? She knew nothing about creatures beyond humans and their own kind. How would she know that bullets wouldn't faze a Siren? Would she be able to figure out that they couldn't be drowned?

He reached out with his mind, but something cut off the gap and it still remained; Seras had briefly muttered something earlier about a contract, but before he could ask further the link had been severed. No… not severed, exactly. If it had been cut off completely, it would have been something much worse. He'd seen others, others who had been separated from their fledglings by death or dark magic; the result had not been pretty, but until he had created a fledgling of his own he hadn't understood the severity of it. No, this was not severed, this was… disrupted. Like a radio signal that had become garbled in transmission, or cut completely by enemy troops.

"Sirens?" Walter repeated, blinking. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "I-I don't understand, I thought you were cut off completely from both Sir Integra and Seras. How do you know this?" Alucard pulled out the crumpled note.

"Unlike you humans, my contacts are both punctual and harder to kill off," he smirked. "Sirens don't affect my kind in the slightest, other than being an annoyance. They want to know how I want to take care of this problem."

"Take care of it?" Walter asked, his eyes narrowing. "Why would they be asking you that? Isn't this more of a human problem, if the Sirens can't kill you all off?"

"Sirens are killing off the humans, though. At an alarming rate, in fact," Alucard responded, studying his gloves nonchalantly as he tucked the note back into his pocket. "That's a large portion of food, isn't it? What's more to be said?"

"Cynical creature… people are dying, and all you can think about is your next meal." Walter looked thoroughly disgusted, but Alucard only chuckled.

"And yet, vampires are one of the few "supernatural" beings still in existence." Walter sighed and shook his head, clearly not wanting to argue the point.

"Are you absolutely certain that it's Sirens?" he asked. "If so, I'm going to have to do some research. I'm not familiar with them; they aren't local to this area, are they?"

"No," Alucard admitted. "I've only heard of them existing near the Adriatic Sea. They fight with the Southern tribe of merfolk for territory, though the Sirens can go on land if they choose." He glanced back at the television. "And so they've chosen," he added, almost to himself. "This isn't anything recent. This has been centuries in the making." And now, like an unwatched pot of water, it had bubbled over and spread across the sea and land, and the cardinal rule had been broken: humans had noticed.

"This isn't good," Walter said aloud to no one in particular. He dialed a number on the telephone, but only received a busy tone in return. "This isn't good at all."

Afterword:

Young Buck: Prepare for War

(*Disclaimer: This song is not quite safe for work or children, containing derogatory terms and stuff. Be warned, guys.)

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