The Captain

by **The Captain** Wed Nov 02, 2011 1:55 am

~~((Some of my beautiful formatting decided to be a bitch and not work for no apparent reason. so excuse random tags and random colours not working.)~~) (Formatting fixed)

Have you seen the Hellsing OVA and/or Read the Manga? How many volumes have you seen/read? (We recommend that you have seen up to OVA 6 or read up to Volume 6 of the manga): . . . . . . . (Translation: Yes. All of it.)

Name: The Captain. His real name is long forgotten by almost everyone, possibly even including him, but some think it may be Hans Günsche.

Age: 552

Apparent Age: Mid to late twenties.

Gender: Male

Race: Elder Lycan

Affiliation: Die Letzte Bataillon

Personality: Quiet and mysterious would be two good words to describe the Captain. 'Stoic' would be another. No one can remember the last time the Captain spoke, but whether his muteness is natural or self imposed, no one really knows, except the Captain himself. He rarely shows much expression except to those he really cares about, though some would say he doesn't care about anything, or anyone. . . they would be wrong. Despite his cold and unfeeling semblance, the Captain has very real, even strong emotions at times; he is excellent at not showing any of these emotions.

The Captain likes dogs, chocolate, filet mingon, classical music, herbal tea, coffee, winter weather, coats, snow, hot chocolate, and peace and quiet. He dislikes cats (although he's willing to tolerate Schrödinger), black tea, fancy coffee, pork (although he likes bacon and sausage), rap music and metal music, the sound of gunfire, chaotic scenes, hot weather, and the colour red.

Appearance: Tall, dark and handsome. The captain stands well over 6 and a half feet tall, and has strong facial features, with a straight nose and a squarish chin. His eyes are blue, and they often appear half lidded, almost as if he is bored, or tired. When his eyes open wide, they give a piercing gaze that can strike terror into the hearts of all, and even make the great Alucard slightly uneasy. His loosely curly blonde hair is cut short and slightly shaggy, hanging a bit in front of his eyes. His mouth is wide, and is usually in a straight line, or a small frown. He is very muscular and toned, though his clothes are so baggy this fact is rarely seen. His skin is fairly pale and unmarred.

The Captain still wears the same uniform he wore during the war: Olive uniform pants, suspenders, combat boots and a coat similar to the M43 Greatcoat, always with the neckguard turned up. He also wears and M43 officers cap emblazoned with the Totenkoph symbol. He typically wears no shirt under his coat, and leaves the button of his pants undone. He keeps his Iron Cross from the first World War in the inside breast pocket of his coat.

In all of his wolf forms, he's silvery white with dark red eyes.

Choice of Weaponry: The Captain uses two modified Mauser C96s with extremely long barrels, as well as a silver alloy combat knife. The rounds for his Mausers are silver with strengthened steel tips.

Abilities: The Captain has all the abilities denoted by his status as Elder Were. He has incredible supernatural speed and strength, moving so quickly he's merely a blur, and being able to kick aside missiles with ease. He can easily punch through plate steel, and lift vehicles and throw them. He can transform into wolf form, Anthropomorphic form and beast wolf form, but usually stays in his human form. He can regenerate almost instantly from any non fatal wounds, and can only be killed by a silver object directly to the heart. He has heightened senses as well.

In terms of non racial abilites, he's an incredible shot, on par with Heinkel Wolfe, and he's very skilled with a knife as well.

Biography: Born in 1459 in the Margraviate of Brandenburg to a middle class family. His mother was a gentle soul, and his father was a quiet, stoic blacksmith. He was a happy child, blonde haired and blue eyed, and full of smiles. However, he was quiet. He'd always been quiet, although he was smart. His father was firm about the fact that children should be seen and not heard, and he didn't have a problem with that. Rather, he liked to listen to what the people around him were saying. He was smart, and mature, and always understood what the adults were saying, and always preferred to be with the adults than children his own age.

When he was old enough, he started learning his father's trade, and eventually took over the business. He became very skilled at the trade, and he became strong and fit.

He didn't make very many friends, however. He typically was too quiet to get involved with people, but he did like to go out to taverns and people watch. One such winter night, he stayed rather late one night at the pub, talking to a very interesting young lady whom had aproached him. They had been talking all night, an extreme rarity for him. There was something different about her, and she convinced him to come back to her place for one last drink. It began to snow as they started walking, having a pleasant conversation until suddenly he found hiself slammed up against a wall with tremendous force. The woman's eyes had turned bright red and started to glow. He shoved her back with all his strength. . . only to find that he was unable to budge her. The vampire was about to bite into his neck when suddenly a greyish blur slammed into the vampire. A huge grey wolf started to grapple with the vampire. The vampire suddenly grabbed him and used him as a meat shield, causing the wolf to bite deeply into his thigh. He cried out in agony and fell, quickly losing consciousness from the pain.

When he woke, he found that he was far, far away from home. He found he had no idea where he was. The light was dim. He looked around, confused; he seemed to be in some sort of cabin in the woods. There were soft white fabric coverings on the windows. He stood, but when he did he felt he. . . wasn't far enough off the ground. He looked down at his feet and saw. . .
. . .
He didn't have feet. He had paws. He ran out into the other room, to find several people sitting around a table, and two young looking wolves at their feet.

"[color=seagreen]Oh, look. He's finally awake," said one of the humans. She was a tall woman with long blonde hair and green eyes. Her skin was slightly freckled and she had a smile on her face as she knelt down by him. "[color=seagreen]Poor little fella looks wery confused," she said, sounding both sympathetic and amused, as if this was something she had gone through many times before. He wondered if she was some kind of witch, and had turned him and those other wolf pups into wolves. He glanced around nervously, paws splayed, shaking lightly.

The other three at the table laughed lightly, and the woman kneeling by him smiled. The two young wolves exchanged glances and their tails wagged. "Doon'cha wirry nae," said one of the men at the table, standing. He was a big man, with red hair and a red beard, as well as a scar over one eye. He had a strong Irish accent, though of course he only recognized it as a strange, foreign accent. "Ye're wit friends, yooung'n."

The blonde woman explained that they were werewolves, and that he had been attacked by a vampie several nights ago, and that, in an attempt to rescue him, Big Red (The man with the beard) had accidentally bitten him, and fairly hard. He managed to kill the vampire and then get the now unconscious young werewolf to be back to their hideout in the black forrest. He had remained unconscious for several days, which included the full moon. She said he was lucky he hadn't been conscious for the first transformation considering how painful it was. She told him that he would turn back to his human form on the full moon, and eventually he would be able to take his human form for most of the time like they did.

At first he was confused, but he realized he couldn't go back.The fact that he couldn't speak while he was in this form didn't really bother him, as hevever actually spoke that much to begin with. Over time, he grew to become happy with his new, if not odd family, which consisted of Arnulfa, the blonde woman, Big Red, who was from Ireland, and also the oldest, Irina, who was the youngest of the old folks, from Russia, and Jack, who was from England. The two pups were Deidrich and Anna, from the Holy Roman Empire [read:Germany] and Sweden, respectively. They pretty much tried to stay away from people and the wars of the time, living in a remote location in the Black Forest, hunting game instead of humans as some of their kind chose to do. He watched as both his fellow pups became young Lycans, leaving him as the only pup. He didn't especially mind, and Arnulfa had a particular soft spot for him. He was the baby of the group, and everyone sort of treated him as such, much to his protesting.

Before he knew it, twenty years had passed, and he was a young lycan, able to take his human form most of the time, except the full moons, when he would be forced into wolf form. He started to talk more with his family, though no one would call him a chatty cathy. Their life was peaceful and quiet, and they rarely ever encountered humans. When they did, they were usually lost hunters, and they would let them stay for a night before getting them pointed back in the right direction.

Due to the fact that no one knew they were there, and a few of them weren't even citizens of the Holy Roman Empire or Prussia, none of them ever got drafted into any wars, and they pretty much just stayed there in peace and quiet, for the most part, riding out the storms and turmoils of the world around them. They were able to avoid persecution during the reformation, since most of them were catholics, and they also managed to stay out of the Thirty Years War, and all the wars after that. It was peaceful, and he loved that.

News reached them of the fact that Napoleon was trying to take over the world, and apparently actually succeding. Well, this was troubling, of course. However, they knew they were in a remote enough location that they would likely not be bothered.

One fateful night in the winter of 1812 the pack was hunting a ways from home. Everyone was in wolf form, with Big Red and Arnulfa in Beast wolf form as they stalked through the wood. The moon was full, the snow was falling. It was silent and beautiful, and the moon lit the snow as it fell in big, downy flakes. the only sound was their paws, padding through the snowy underbrush. He shook the snow from his silvery fur, pausing for a moment. Suddenly he looked up, and looked around.

The pack stopped in their tracks, ears perked, eyes searching.

He knew he heard something, but it had stopped. He glanced around carefully; if it was an elk, they would be lucky. If it was a human. . . They would be very unlucky.

They all stood there, motionless, waiting. It was then that the group of humans broke out of their cover and started running. This was what they all had been dreading. The werewolves surged forwards, aiming to kill the humans; they couldn't let the fact that they were here be known. They massacred them. . . except for one. A small child, who had burried herself in the snow to stay hidden from them. They knew she was there, but. . . none of them could bring themselves to kill her. Little did they know that this act of mercy would be their downfall.

THey didn't know that the next morning, the girl had run back to her village, and told them of the monsters that killed the hunting party.

The monster hunters came in the night. They were silent as they crept into the house, wearing soft soled leather boots, and wrappings over their mouths to muffle their breath. They carried long, sharp silver stakes, and hammers of silver too.

He was sleeping, though caught in a fitful nightmare. He tossed and turned. Suddenly he woke. The house was still; too still. Suddenly he heard a scuffle. He sat bolt upright in bed. Something slammed against his door and he heard Arnulfa give a choked cry of pain and scream his name as a silver spike slammed through his door. He heard a wet thud, and smelt blood. . . Arnulfa's blood. And a lot of it. The door opened quietly, and in the moonlight he saw two figures. . . and. . . He saw her there. The woman he had come to think of as a mother. He saw the moonlight reflected in her now glassy green eyes as blood poured out from the wound in her chest; the wound that wasn't healing; the wound that had been caused by the silver stake now embedded in his door. He stared at her there, lifeless and pinned to the door. He could smell everyone else's blood, too, like a horrible mix of coppery poison. He saw the moon reflected in pools of red. . . the red of their blood. They were all dead. Big Red, Anna, Deidrich, Irina, Jack. . . and Arnulfa. He knew that she had been coming to his room to warn him; to tell him to run. But there was no way in hell that he was going to run now. These people. . . these humans -- NO! These MONSTERS had just killed them all. His whole family. His whole life.

"Do you haff ANY idea," he rasped hoarsly, having not spoken in quite some time, "zhe ATTROCITY. . . zhat you haff just committed!?" he demanded. "DO YOU!? DO YOU HAFF ANY IDEA?! YOU FUCKHINGK. BASTARDS." he yelled, his voice breaking from his sorrow and rage. "You massacred a whole family of people. . . of GUTE PEOPLE. PEOPLE who vanted NOSINGK more zan to live zeir lives peacefully, vithout ze trouble of PEOPLE. LIKE YOU. ZEY VERE GUTE PEOPLE, DAMN YOU! ZEY NEWER VANTED TO HURT ANYVONE! DAMN YOU!" he sobbed the last words. His hands clenched into fists, and his nails bit into his palms so hard that blood dripped to the floor.

The monster hunters stood there, staring at him, completely frozen by his outburst.

Suddenly he surged forwards, grabbing one of the hunters and slamming his head into the wall so hard that it actually exploded. He turned on the other and kicked him in half. The rest of the hunters tried to escape, but the last one barely made it to the door before all of them were dead. He crushed the last one's head with his foot as the man begged for mercy.

He stood there for a long time, staring at the floor. He was covered in blood, and gore, and tears were pouring down his face. "No. . . No no no no. . .NO! NO! GOD DAMNIT NO!" he sobbed, dropping to his knees and putting his face in his hands. "Vhy? Vhy did zhis. . .vhy did zhey kill zem. . . Vhy did I kill zem"

Emotions, he decided, lead to irrational actions. Irrational actions, he decided, lead to regret. And regret. . . it simply lead to nothing but despair.

He spent a long time wandering aimlessly from town to town, contemplating things. He did odd job here and there untill February,1813 when he decided to join the army, knowing that Napoleon needed to be stopped at all costs. The Prussians and the Russians formed a coalition and started fighting hard against Napoleon. In March the Russians finally reached Berlin, and the french evacuated without a fight. He saw it as a sign of what was to come, certain that Napoleon would fall. He fought under Gebhard von Blücher for most of the War. He fought in the battle of Grossbeeren before they got thrashed by the French at the battle of Dresden in August. He was pleased when Prussia, Austria, and Russia joined forces to crush Napoleon at the battle of nations. They continued to fight valiantly against Bonaparte, and he silently accepted the Iron cross after it was introduced in late 1813.

After Napoleon was banished, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, began gathering troops for a battle he was certain would end the war. He of course volunteered, as he too thought that they would be able to fell the French in this battle.

That battle became known as The Battle of Waterloo, and they did indeed crush the French there. That battle is mostly a blur to him, when he thinks back on it now. . . It seems so far away, unlike the deaths of his family, which still sometimes sting as if the wound is only days old. He accepted many medals, mostly for bravery in the face of certain death, as he fought stoically despite a hail of bullets, and many men trying to fell him desperately before he ripped them apart. The main thing he remembers about that fight is the blood. The smell of it, and taste of it, everywhere. All the dead lying on the battle field , their lifeless eyes staring into nothing. He remembered his comrades, good men, he saw, lying dead. People he had come to know as friends; some were better than others, but still, none of them deserved to die. It struck him once again just how unfair life was. It always was, it always had been, and he knew it always would be. He decided it was just about time that he accepted that fact.

He never spoke again, after that battle.

He was reclusive after that, prefering the company of his own thoughts and his books to that of others. Besides, it tended to be awkward when people tried to speak to him and all he did in response was stare at them. He didn't like to speak, anymore. Speaking betrayed emotions, which he was already trying to burry. If he said nothing, nothing was betrayed, and to that end, nothing had to be felt. However, he soon found his world again plunged into chaos, as the Germanic peoples began to fight to become their own nation.

And so, he fought again. It was long, and bloody, but eventually it was won, and Germany was born.

After that, people were content to leave him alone. He didn't fight, and he was a recluse. He went out only when required, and made his intentions clear to those around him with gestures and movements. His face typically bore a blank expression, and he never spoke. People began to think of him as an eccentric, and eventually most people just forgot about him all together. He was glad for this. Some people started to think that when they saw him, they were just imagining it.

He fought in the First World War, called the Great War back then. He fought because he felt a duty to the country he had helped to create. He slipped back into anonnymity after the war.

But his life of peaceful obscurity was not to last.

1935. He still remembered when the knock came on his door. It was extremely unusual as most people tended to forget that anyone even actually lived here. He looked up from the book he was reading (Dracula, by Bram Stoker), and his eyes narrowed slightly in the direction of the door. There was another knock. He silently stood and walked to the door, opening it. There stood two men, one who was almost as tall as he, which was a rather astonishing feat in itself, and the other, who was squat and fat, with a disgusting smile across his face. It made him almost queezy, just to look at this man - that was how unctuous he was; so disgustingly slimy in every way, from the way he smiled to the way he stood. It was just his manner. It was almost like his very existence was slippery, slimy, oily and disgusting in every way. He was dressed in the garb of an SS Officer.

"Guten Tag," he greeted. The man next to him was thin, almost skelletal, with straight blonde hair and spectacles. He too grinned at him, and he found his grin even more disturbing that that of the fat, slimy one. There was something outright menacing about this man's grin, and it stirred a feeling in his gut that he did not like. "May ve come in?"

Well. It wasn't exactly a smart thing back in those days to refuse a request from an SS Officer. So, after a long moment of staring at the spectacled, greasy blonde man before him with a blank expression, he simply nodded. The man grinned and thanked him, waiting for him to move aside. He scowled slightly, but finally moved aside and allowed the two men into his home.

The SS Officer was an Obersturmführer [the equal of a liutennant], by the patch on his collar - not someone to be trifled with, for certain. If he were Heer, he would outrank him. . . but he was SS, and that threw all logic outside the window. He motioned to his livingroom, making a gesture that indicated they should make themselves at home. However, he did not sit, nor did he offer refreshments.

The Obersturmführer sat on his sofa, and the skellatal one with the strange glasses sat in a chair. He scowled at both of them, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He slightly quirked one brow as if to ask them what the hell they wanted. It was clear from his demeanor that he did not want them there.

Mmmm, ja. Ve haff come to see you, Captain, because ve are. . . avare of your current status. . . as a verevolf of course!" he informed, with seemingly no small amount of glee. He felt his own scowl become a thin line and his brows come together slightly.

"Und so ve vanted to, vell, offer you a place amongst our ranks. You vould be able to keep your current millitary status und honours, and ve vould keep your little secred, ja? Howewer. . . if you vere to refuse zis offer, ve vould haff to inform certain people of vaht you really are, und you vould be stripped of all titles und medals, und zen of course executed." He said it all so lightly, treating these matters of life with death with indifference and a seemingly sick amusement. The way he moved his hands when he talked showed his glee for the situation.

His fists clenched, and he trembled slightly with fury, his teeth gritted behind his thin lipped stare of unbridled hatred. How DARE he come into his home and say such a thing!? Make such accusations and threats?! Even though his nails were short, he could feel them digging into his palms. What made him the angriest was the fact that the smug, smirking fatass was SS so there was literally nothing he could do about it. For the first time since the battle of Warterloo he wanted to speak - to bark at them furiously to get out of his house. For a split moment his teeth were bared in a silent snarl. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, however, and managed to calm himself, if only slghtly. He relaxed his hands before bringing them to his chest where he loudly cracked the kuckles on first his right hand, then his left, before cracking his neck and rubbing it slightly to work out the knots that had formed.

The Strumfuhrer gave a light laugh, which made him want to throw up . . . or possibly jump across the room and snap the fatty's neck. "Oh dear, Dok. It seems I made him a liiiittle angry, doesn't it?" the slimy man said, no small amount of girlish glee in his voice.

"Goodness me, herr Obersturmfuhrer, it does seem zat vay!" There was something delicate about the way the skeletal man identified as "Dok" spoke. Almost. . . girly. It sent chills down his spine. The way he smirked was enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

They were getting far too much satisfaction out of this.

"So vaht do you say, Captain? Vill you come vith us?"

He held back another snarl and instead simply scowled. These two made him feel emotions again; emotions he swore himself off of a long time ago.

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment before letting the breath sigh out. He needed to calm himself; this was not acceptable - he would not let scum like this break his resolve. He once more opened his eyes and looked through those spectacle lenses before the Obersturmfuhrer's yellow eyes. He was thin lipped once more, and simply gave a curt nod.

"Oh, gute! Gute!" exclaimed the fat bastard with no small amount of ecstasy. He even clapped his hands. "Wery gute! Come along zen, ve vill haff somevone come to collect you sings later."

He gave him an incredulous look; did he seriously expect him to just GO? Just like that?!

The man stood, as did the one known as "Dok." "Come along now Captain. Zat's an order," he chortled.

The two walked out, clearly expecting him to follow. He stood for a moment, staring blankly after them. What. . . This. . . It was like his life was ending all over again. Like that night so long ago. Everything gone.He finally snapped back to the harsh reality and followed after them, snagging his coat off the hanger with such anger as to make the coathanger tople over. He didn't stop to fix it; he'd probably never see this place again.

The Doctor, as he was, slipped into the passenger seat, while the Obersturmfuhrer got into the back. "Drive, Captain."

WHAT? He expected him to DRIVE them?! Like a Cheuffer or butler?! He had some semblance of pride remaining.

"Zat is an order, Captain!" he said with that sick look in his eyes again. He didn't even know where they were going! How the hell was he supposed to drive there!? "Don't vorry," the man said, as if reading his mind, "Dok vill give directions!"

He was actually serious. He couldn't belive it. He took another breath to calm his temper before sliding into the drivers seat and resuming his usual emotionless expression, and putting the car into gear.

From that day on he was a dog. He was basically made into the Obersturmfuhrer's personal slave and body guard. Oh, not to mention the Doctor's guinea pig. He was submitted to numerous tests, harvesting of DNA and Bone and blood. All for the sake of what the Doctor called "The Wehrwolf Project."

It was during this time the the second world war errupted accross europe. The Wehrwolf Prjoect continued in full swing, though none of the experiments were successful. He was issued a uniform of the Heer, and wore it without protest. . . he stopped protesting quite a while ago. At this point he just tried to take it all in stride; there was nothing he could do about it anyway. The once Obersturmfuhrer was now a Sturmbanfuhrer [equivalent of a Major], so any say he could have had was promptly removed. He remained a dog. Mute and ever by the Major's side. His least favourite thing was watching -and listening- to the man eat. Disgusting. He kept himself isolated emotionally from everyone, and everyone let him be that way. There was one scientist who went out of her way to be kind to him, however. They called her Ada. She was sweet, he thought, and wondered how she ended up with a crowd as bad as this one. She always tried to be gentle when performing painful operations on him, and appologized at the slightest hint she had caused him pain. He occassionally gave her one of his rare curling of the corners of his mouth that passed for a smile, and she always beamed back at him when he did.

The experiments kept failing, and he could no longer see the point of continuing with the project.

He was roused from his sleep one night in 1942, only to be dragged down to the laboratory and shown something he found quite disturbing. It was a young man, it seemed, chained to the wall with what were clearly silver restraints, based on how they burned into his flesh. his was unshaven and dirty, and dressed in prisoner's clothes. He was clearly exhausted from struggling with the chains.

"Ah, Captain," said the Doctor, walking over to where he was staring intesely at the boy. "Ze subject ist vone Sigmund Saenger. Age unknown, origin unknown. He von't tell us more zan zat, und instead spit in our faces. He ist qvite troublesome und keeps tryingk to bite my scientists," he complained. "Ve sink he ist a formidable fighter und could be invaluable to our group, but he vill not listen to anysingk ve say."

He arched a brow at the Doctor, as if saying, "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"You're stupider zan you look, Captain," snarled the Doctor. "Get in zere und force him to join us! He's a dog like you, you should haff no trouble!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes slightly before walking into the room.

The boy immediately looked up at him, smelling another, far older wolf. He bared his teeth. "You're vone of zem!" he accused.

He walked over to the boy and unhooked his shackles from around his wrists and ankles, allowing the dark burns to slowly start to heal. What an idiot that Doctor was. Didn't he know that if he kept this boy in silver chains he would die eventually from poisoning? Christ. He shook his head and sat on the ground next to the pup, leaning back against the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before slowly sighing it out.

The pup looked at him oddly. He could feel his gaze on him, even though his eyes were closed. He opened one eye lazily and quirked a brow, giving him a questiong look.

"N. . . Nosing I guess. . . " he said, suddenly looking shy. He nodded silently and closed his eye again. Eventually the boy scooted over and sat by him. "Um. . . I'm Sigmund. . . " he offered. He nodded in response. "V. . . Vhat's your name?" He simply shook his head. "You'. . . Don't haff vone?" He shrugged with one shoulder. "Do you not remember?" he asked curiously. He could feel those intensely blue eyes staring at him out of that freckled face. He shook his head. He did remember. . . It just. . . wasn't important anymore. "I see. . . You don't. . . talk, do you?" he asked. He nodded to let him know he was correct. "I see. . . Did they send you in here to get me to join?" He nodded. "Vell vhy should I?" he asked softly. He opened his eyes and looked at the boy seriously before dragging his finger across his throat in a manner that made his unspoken words clear. The boy gulped. He closed his eyes and rested against the all once more. The two sat in silence for a long while, and captain learned what he could about the boy from his scent. He wagered he was about 150 years old, and had recently been in the desert for an extended period of time. To him, he was just a pup, though he knew that in actuallity, he would be considered an elder of their race. He reached over and put a cloved hand on the kid's head somewhat comfortingly without opening his eyes, ruffling his bright red hair. HE thought how young he must have been when he was turned, since he still looked as a youth, barely out of his twenties.

After a long time of them sitting in silence, Sigmund reluctantly agreed to joining their merry band. He was quickly outfitted as Heer and adopted into the Wehrwolf porject alongside him.

The Wehrwolf project, however, was quickly abandoned after Hitler initiated Special Order #666. The creation of a batallion of artificial vampires.

He felt like he finally got some measure of peace after the order was innitiated, despite his continual job as all around gopher for "Herr Major" as he liked to be called nowadays.

But things were going down hill for Nazi Germany, and quickly, and it wasn't long before the trashman of the Hellsing Organization showed up on their front door. Or rather on top of the dinner table. Major and Dok excused themselves before he and the kid, Walter, went at it, with him in anthropomorphic form. Clearly the boy was distressed that his wires could not cut him and he gave him a thrashing until Alucard showed up. . . in the form of a young girl? The vampire mocked his muteness and started barking at him. The proper response? To kick her in half, of course.

The Nosferato proceded to refom her(him?)self and. . . ride out. . . on her(his?) coffin, which had suddenly sprouted legs. . . . He managed to keep his expression blank as the vampire and his coffin slammed the doors behind themselves. He looked back to Walter, his expression grim. The two fought on until he managed to beat the kid into submission, but left him alive. Now he had to find the Major, and Dok, and fast. Things were clearly going bad, and extrmeley rapidly. He found Liutennant Van Winkle passed out in the hall not too far outside the door. He quickly lifted her and her musket over his shoulder and ran down the hall. Destruction, as far as the eyes could see.

But they managed to get out alive . . . many people were not so lucky. The facilites were completely destroyed. Dok was furious. He remembered him and Sigmund having to listen to his endless tirades of how much had lost and eventually he just started to tune it all out. It was a long ways to Brazil. Mostly he read books, hung about looking imposing, as the Major wished of him, and did a whole lot of nothing, listening boredly to the Major's scheeming.

The long zepplin ride to South America gave him a lot of time to think. He thought back on his past, and thought about the things Sigmund had told him about his life, and the things he new about the others in the Wehrwolves Unit that he was a part of. Schrodinger was constanly annoying him, but he did get some time to himself. He listened to music, and rested, and was at peace somewhat for the first time since the Major and the Doctor had showed up at his door.

His respites were breif, but he fully enjoyed every second of them. To him the trip could not have lasted long enough, since there were no duities to atend to except to stand by the Major and Dok when the Major wanted him to.

But the trip did end, and eventually they arrived in Brazil, and the scheeming and testing began a new. Dok had plans, and the Major had plans. Such plans. Grandiose, certainly, but most of all, stupid. At the end of all of these plans, was death. A war that would never end? Unlikely. A war that went on for years and left the eart rid of all life? Including themselves? More likely.

They recruited a new man into their elite unite while in Brazil - a Malandro by the name of Tubalcain Alhambra. He was unctuous in nature, but he sitill liked him better than the Major or Dok.

Time passed. Time where he didn't have to do much. He liked that. But all good things must come to an end. Alucard had come to Rio de Janero, and The Major decided to make his declaration of war.

Somehow, they manged not to lose any important members in the events that followed, thanks in no small part to he himself going in and saving peoples asses.

For the time, Millennium was defeated. And they slunk back into the shadows, remaning hidden.

Recently, he was sent to the new New York base, where he serves as bodyguard for some of the more important scientists, including the Doctor and Adelaide von Sommer. In his free time he is volunteering at the local animal shelter taking care of dogs.

Sample: NOT REQUIRED.