Uncertainties

By SSG Michael B. Jackson

My name is Seras Victoria, and, as I lie here in a strange coffin in an obscure safe-house somewhere on London’s seedier side, I’m afraid that, quite literally, I may be losing not only my mind, but my soul as well.  If, that is, it’s not been lost already.
That’s a fair question too, I suppose; does an undead monster even have a soul to be lost?  Or was that something that He took from me along with my life’s blood that night at the church in Cheddar?  Oh, I’m certain He’d find my thoughts, my fears, quite amusing.  He’d simply laugh, I imagine, and say something that managed to be sarcastic and witty and philosophical all at once.  That seems to always be His way.  And yet, despite that, I can’t help but… love Him.
And that, I suppose, is just about the crux of another little problem for me.  Just how is one supposed to serve two diametrically opposed masters?  Of course, for right now, we’re all on the same side, serving God, Queen and country.  But if I ever really was, I’m not naïve anymore.  He’s slowly making sure of that.  And it’s quite apparent to me that our present circumstances can’t last forever.
Not that things haven’t already changed entirely too much for the worse, of course.  Hellsing, as an organization, appears to be all but dead.  All of it’s troops either butchered or scattered; it’s very heart and soul, Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, imprisoned in utmost secrecy by Her Majesty’s government; the venerable Hellsing estate and all that it held seized by the that same government, the very Crown we’d all sworn our lives to defend.  And so many of my friends gave those lives up willingly doing just that!  Oh, how they’ve been repaid…
Now, it seems that all that’s left of Hellsing is us.  My Master and I.  The irony of that must sit like ashes upon poor Sir Integra’s tongue in her hidden prison cell, wherever it might be.  I, myself, have no idea where she’s being kept, though I know that my Master knows.  He still visits her there, I think, when the fancy strikes him.  Or maybe I’ve got it wrong, and he comes only when she wills it.  I really don’t know.  I’ve never understood what’s between them; how she controls a thing like my Master.  God, how could anyone control a thing like Him?  But somehow she does, which makes her almost as frightening to me as He is.  And yet, I can’t help but love her as well.
And so there I am, caught between the two of them.  My Master, Alucard, a no-life king of the undead, an almost elemental force of… evil.  And Sir Integra, head of the Hellsing family, a scion of the Anglican Church and a protector of the Crown, sworn on God’s holy name to fight for the destruction of all the monsters of the night unto her dying breath.  They’re two giants, that’s what they are, compared to me, and here I sit, at their feet, only hoping not to be trampled underfoot as they maneuver around one another.
The worst part is, I just don’t know what to do.  Alucard is my Master, and more, He’s- I- I suppose He’s my second father, really.  It was through Him that I was reborn into the darkness.  His bullet killed me, and then His blood gave me life again.  And it’s not as though He didn’t give me the choice… but did He really?  It was true what He said, I didn’t want to die that night, no more than I want to now, but… If I’d truly known what He was offering me, would I still have agreed?  Or would I have chosen to give up my life for a greater good?  Should I have chosen that?  Was I just a coward, grasping desperately for anything, no matter how fundamentally wrong, to prolong my miserable life?  When I look at it like that, I almost think I should’ve just died with my friends in D-11…
But no.  That’s not the answer.  I wanted to live then because, there at the end, staring at death down the barrel of Alucard’s gun, I realized that there was just so much I had left to do.  So many places I’d never been, so many things I’d never seen.  And it just didn’t seem fair to me.  Why was my life being cut so short?  Why was my life to be the cost of that devil-priest’s undoing?  What had I done to deserve the spot I was in?  Was it because I’d followed in Daddy’s footsteps, choosing to put myself in harm’s way for the sake of others?  Or was it just because I wasn’t good enough at my trade?  Was I simply a miserable failure as a copper, and this was something I’d brought upon myself through sheer incompetence?  Or had I simply fallen into a situation that was beyond any experience, any training that I’d ever had?  In the end, when all the other choices were taken from me, I made the only one left that was mine to make.  I chose to live.
I’m still not sure why He offered this to me.  At the time, I thought it might be pity, or compassion, maybe.  But I know better now.  There’s little of either of those things in my Master, and He cares for most humans about as much as any of the undead seem to.  No, it’s only certain rare individuals I’ve seen Him drawn to, those with something… special about them.  Humans like Sir Integra with her indomitable spirit and will; a woman who was willing to cut her own throat, knowing that she’d almost certainly die, rather than live with tainted blood in her veins.  Or like Walter, with his unflappable calm and courtly manners and the sheer deadliness that he keeps so well hidden underneath it all.  Or even like… Commander Fargason, a man of honor and valor to the very end.  
Oh, God, it still hurts even to think about the Commander; I can still feel his body in my arms after the sniper’s bullet laid him low, still taste his cooling blood on my tongue as I took what little bit of him, of his strength, that I could into myself.  He was more than a commanding officer for me; if anything, he was my third father, a bit stern, but not unforgiving.  He was the man who showed me that, whatever I’d become, I needn’t be just another monster.  That I could still fight on the side of the angels if I chose to.  And he died at the hands of his own countrymen, fellow soldiers, no less.  Where, I ask, is the justice in that?  Where?
Again, I can almost hear my Master’s laughter somewhere in the back of my mind, and again, I wonder why?  Why me?  What was it that He saw in me that night that made Him give me that choice?  Or was it just a part of the game that He plays with himself?  Did it simply amuse Him to have me place my life, my trust, my faith so totally in His hands?  Was all of it just for His entertainment?  As much as I’d like to believe otherwise, I can’t help but think that that must’ve been at least a part of it… God.
The laughter again.  And this time I’m sure-
‘Brooding, Police-girl?’ His low, rough voice says, playfully, inside my head.  ‘It’s a waste of time, you know.  Ruminating over the dead.  Lamenting over the choices you’ve made.  What’s done is done, Seras Victoria.  You can’t go back.  Only forward.’
“Forward?” I say aloud in a bare whisper.  “Forward to what, Master?  Everything seems to have gone so wrong; where can we possibly go from here?”
‘Ah, Police-girl, you just don’t understand yet.  It’s too soon.  But eventually you’ll realize, as time wears on and you endure.  We’re eternal.  Immortal.  And while the endless ages can crush you under a growing mountain of boredom if you let them, they’re also like a wide, slow river, carrying us unhurriedly away from tragedy and disaster.  The only coin that’s required for passage, Seras Victoria, is patience.  And you’d better start saving up now; your voyage has already begun.’
Biting my lip, I say, “It’s so easy for you to say that, Master.  You’ve already lived for so long.  Seen so much.  Probably lost more than I can imagine.  But I- I-!”  And then my voice broke, and, to my mortification, the tears I’d been holding inside for the past week, since that night of horror at the Tower, came spilling out.  God, that I should be reduced to this in front of Him!
And then, to make matters worse, I hear the low creak of old wood as the lid of my borrowed coffin slowly opens without the touch of mortal hands, and a long shadow falls over my prone form.  In the basement room’s dim light, I see Him, standing over me, a tall black silhouette, lamplight flashing from the orange lenses over His eyes and the bone-white canines revealed by His sardonic grin.
As I roll over, turning away and covering my eyes to hide the bloody stupid tears leaking out, He says in a low, playfully reproving tone, “Police-girl.  Why do you torture yourself like this, grieving for your mortal comrades?  They died as they lived; spectacularly!  They gave their lives for what they believed in.  Can any mortal truly hope for more?”
Sniffing to hold the tears at bay, I say, “Is that all it’s about for you, Master?  What kind of show they put on at the end?  What about the ones they left behind?  Their friends?  Their families?  Dear God, some of those men had children!  Little boys and little girls who’ve got no Daddy now!  Who’ll have to-!”
“Go on as you did?” He cut in, finishing a thought I’d rather have left unvoiced.  “Is that what this is really about, Police-girl?  Are you truly so broken-hearted over the loss of your mortal friends, or is it just that this tears open old, unhealed wounds?”  Then, shaking His head slowly, He says, “Seras Victoria.  What did I tell you before?  You’re a child of the darkness, now and forever.  Your mortal self is already dead.  Let go of it before it drags you into the grave with it.”
Anger flashes to life inside me at His words, momentarily displacing my sadness and my common sense, and I say, “I can’t!  Bloody hell, Master, what is it you’re asking me to do?  Just throw away my feelings?  My past?  Just flush it all down the loo right along with whatever’s left of my humanity?  Is that what you want?  For me to become a cold, unfeeling monster like-“
“Like me?” He says in a quiet, mocking tone with just the barest hint of danger in it.
My eyes widen, and a small gasp escapes my lips as I realize just how great a slip I’d made.  “No, Master,” I say quickly, rolling to face Him once again.  “That’s not what I meant! I-!” 
But He only stands there, grinning wider now, and says, “Of course it was.  Speak your mind, Police-girl; get it all off your chest now.  What are you afraid of?”  And then, in a playful whisper that sends a chill down my spine, He finishes, “That I’ll eat you?”
Sitting up slowly, I tuck my knees under my chin, hugging them tightly, and, tears still in my eyes, I look up at Him.  In a small, forlorn voice, I say, “If that’s truly what you want, Master.  I couldn’t stop you.  And they do say that some creatures will eat their own offspring.”  And then, looking away, no longer able to meet His powerful gaze, I mutter, “Especially if that offspring is… defective in some way.”
There’s silence for a moment, heavy and oppressive, and then I hear Him take a step nearer.  I tense just slightly, not really knowing what’s to come next.  Had I really so thoroughly displeased Him?  Was it just too much bother, now that everything had so completely fallen apart, to have someone like me to watch after?  Was my Master about to cut His loses, so to speak, in order to be better able to serve His own master?  Would He actually-!  A part of me trembles silently at these thoughts, but another part holds firm.  My eyes narrow with resolve, and I think, ‘No matter what He decides, I’ll keep at least my dignity!  Even if I can’t fight Him, He can’t take that from me.  And I’ll make sure that, one way or the other, He remembers me through all the ages that He lives.’
But then, as He reaches my side, He unexpectedly drops to a knee, and, reaching out, gently raises my chin with His finger, bringing my gaze level with His.  In a quiet tone, with very little of His usual sarcasm, He says, “Do you truly believe that, Police-girl?  That you’re flawed in some way?”
Sniffling again, I say, “I must be, mustn’t I, Master?  It’s like you’ve said, I- I just can’t leave it all behind.  I can’t… embrace the darkness the way you have.  Bloody hell, I can still hardly bring myself to drink even transfusion blood, much less anything else!  And I… can’t stop wanting to help people.  To be… good.”  Then, in a bare whisper, I add, “I must be a terrible disappointment to you, Master.”
And then, to my disbelief, He starts to laugh.  Not the cold, cruel laughter I’d heard Him hurl at an enemy, but a richer, mellower sound I’d only rarely heard before.  “Ah, Police-girl!” He says in an amused, almost affectionate tone, “A disappointment?  You may be any number of things, Seras Victoria, but never that.”
My eyes widen again, and incredulously, I say, “Master?”
Chuckling again, He says, “Police-girl.  Just a short while ago, you were asking yourself some questions.  Why did I offer this to you?  What was it that I saw in you?  And I’ll answer your questions.”  Then, grinning once more as I draw in an expectant breath, He says, “With a question.  Why do you think I did it?”
Crestfallen, I say, frustrated, “Master, I don’t know.  I- I know it wasn’t because you felt sorry for me or anything like that; I know you better than that now.  And I… know what Sir Integra thinks.  I’ve never heard her say it, but it’s there.  In her eyes.  In her voice.  She thinks I’m… a toy of some sort for you.  A little doll to play dress-up with and what-not.  I- hope that’s not it, Master.”
Shaking His head slowly, He says, “Ask yourself this, Police-girl: Why does any creature desire offspring?  What’s the point?  Is it to remake an exact image of one’s self, boring in it’s unoriginality and dragging without purpose on into the future?  Or is it to create something new, something that just maybe the world’s never seen before?  Something that will never fail to surprise and delight, even if it sometimes behaves in ways that are… incomprehensible to it’s parent.  Isn’t that what creating and rearing a child is really all about, Seras Victoria?”
With a small gasp, I say, “Is that it, then, Master?  Was that why you- but why ME?  What was it that made you decide that I was… worthy?”
The Master sighs with mock-frustration, and says, “There’s no end to the ‘why’s’ for you, is there Police-girl?  You might just as well ask yourself why a sculptor chooses one piece of marble over another, or why a painter selects a particular canvas and uses only colours mixed just so.  It isn’t the rough material itself that the artist sees; it’s what’s that material might become.  How the artist’s skill might be used to explore and exploit the innate properties and eccentricities of the material, and eventually bring out something that might’ve been hiding there all along.  Something unique and perhaps even… beautiful in some way.  Do you understand what I’m telling you, Seras Victoria?”
Around a sudden lump in my throat, I say, “I… think so, Master.  And I-“
But He cuts me off there, saying in a low tone, “There is one more thing, Police-girl.  You’ve noticed that there are certain… traits I’m attracted to in others.  And above all else, sheer fiery will and perseverance draw me the most.  It’s… one of the things that I admire in my Master.”  He pauses for a moment, then, gazing at me intently over His orange-shaded glasses, and then says, “So tell me, Police-girl, when was the last time you gave up on anything?  That you failed to fight to your last breath or resist with whatever was available to you, even if that thing was only your own will?  When, Police-girl?  When?”
“Never,” I say softly, fresh tears, hot with emotion, rolling softly down my cheeks.
My Master nods slowly, and says, “Never.  Not when faced by two unholy monsters while you were still mortal.  Not when offered an infernal bargain by one of those monsters in exchange for the other’s destruction.  And not even when you found that what that monster had offered you wasn’t at all what you thought it would be.  Even then, you continued to fight, struggling to hold onto what you perceived as your ‘humanity’, to ‘stay on the side of the angels’, as it were.”  Chuckling again, He says, “Perhaps not the most intelligent display I’ve ever seen, but spectacular in it’s own odd way.”
Swallowing hard, I say, in a little girl’s voice, “So you’re not angry with me, Master?  And I’m not just a… play-thing for you?”
Shaking His head once more, He says, “Police-girl; I’m not angry yet, but if you keep this up…!  Haven’t you heard a word I said?”
Smiling now, I say, “Yes, my Master, I heard.  And I-“
But again He cuts me off and, regaining His feet suddenly, backing away from the embrace He must sense that I desperately want, He smiles and says, “Good.  Enough talk, then.”  And, hand darting into His cloak, He suddenly produces a plastic bag of donor blood, which He negligently tosses in my direction.  Without thinking, I pluck it from the air as He says, “Drink and rest, Seras Victoria, now while you have the chance.  The fight’s far from over, and soon there’ll be new orders from my Master.  Make sure you’re ready for them.”  And with that, He steps back and slowly fades from my sight, leaving me all alone again.
But it’s not a melancholy solitude this time.  The Master’s words have left a warm glow inside me, which even the cold, thin, sterile pre-packaged blood can’t drown.  
‘He does care for me in His own way,’ I think warmly as I lie back down, pulling the coffin’s lid closed over me.  ‘And what kind of daughter would I be if I didn’t feel the same in return?’
As my eyelids grow heavy, and daylight’s weariness creeps slowly over my now-placid thoughts, I smile and think, ‘Maybe things will be alright after all.  I’ve lost so much these last few months… but Master Alucard was right.  I can’t, I WON’T give up.  No matter what.  Somehow we’ll make all of this work.  I’ll find my own path to becoming a ‘real’ vampire, and I’ll do it without letting go of the things that make me human as well.  I’ll do just what he said; I’ll become something this world’s never seen before.  Or I’ll die trying.  But either way, I’ll make him proud.  My Master.  My Father…’
And then, smiling still, I let the weariness take me, and for the first time in ages, fall into a peaceful slumber. 

END