Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Specimen (I) ❯ Experiment I ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Revised: 1.12.07

Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to its respective creator and companies. No copyright infringement is intended.

“I think that in the end we will come to a set of simple universal laws of nature, laws that we cannot explain.”

-Steven Weinberg, “Can Science Explain Everything? Anything?”

Humans are funny creatures, most not even realizing that they are just pawns in the game called “life”—that they are only a food source for monsters—monsters like myself. They are the elixir of life that sustains the ones that are already dead—or at least that's my take on it. But then there are the exceptions; the rare delicacies. However, they are all too few and far between.

My master is one of these scarce exceptions, but then again, so are pretty much all of the other direct descendents of those carrying the Hellsing family name. However, my master is quite different than all the other masters I've had before her. Yes, she is quite different, but not just because she is female, though I have to admit, that is the most notable difference. Well, that and her skin tone, seeing as her mother was of a different ethnicity. But that's besides the point. My point is that she is one of the most capable masters I've had since Abraham Van Helsing himself. She's sharp, intuitive, quick-witted, and can spout out insults at me like there is no tomorrow when I'm being difficult (which, I admit, is practically all the time). Yes, she's definitely inherited her great-grandfather's wit. But I'm getting off topic. I always seem to tend to get off topic when I'm going on about my master. I'm not about to tell you of my master's history, but of my own history instead.

I'm supposing those of you reading this have read some of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Well, I'm not here to tell you of that part of my history as not only is the general gist of it summed up in that book (though not entirely accurate), but that most of you probably already know of it.

No, what I'm here to tell you about is how I became what I am today; how the Hellsings experimented on me, turning me into the monster that I am today…

November 10, 1897

The capture of the Count was a complete success—however, due to the nature of this beast, even when seemingly dead—we must take caution when bringing him back to England so as not to disturb his unconscious slumber. Having him out and running rampant on the streets again would not be a good idea, at least, not yet anyways. I really don't want to go on another seven-month wild goose chase to capture him again, not that he can really do anything at the moment.

People will call me insane because of this, more than likely, but let them talk! I have no interest in their petty rumors. Besides, they won't be laughing if they ever figure out what I have in store for this creature—a much more wonderful plan than throwing him aside to rot, even though they bugs probably won't even try to taste his flesh, nonetheless come near it. No, thisisa much better plan; a plan where the Count can be put to much use by humankind…

-Abraham Van Helsing

I am only vaguely aware of this day, but then again, having a wooden stake driven through your heart tends to do things like that to you. I can only remember snippets of Van Helsing's thoughts while I lay in that coffin. Well, that and feeling somewhat sick to my stomach. Vampires were definitely not meant to be water-dwelling creatures. Even though my kind can get across running water by taking the soil of their homeland with them, water still does not agree with us, making us a little seasick. I had obviously been no exception back then before I had been made (or “enhanced” as Abraham might say) into what I am today; the living embodiment of undead perfection. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

I had developed my telepathy long before this, so catching some of Van Helsing's thoughts wasn't that much of a big deal, even if it was unintentional, seeing as I was half dead and all. But even then, I still heard fewer thoughts than I usually did. That's the thing about the Hellsings; they can have very strong mind barriers if they concentrate hard enough.

I must admit though, out of the few thoughts that I managed to catch, some of them disturbed me greatly, not only because I couldn't seem to connect one thought to another to come up with a complete idea I could actually understand, but also because I had a feeling that his thoughts had to do with me and something I wouldn't quite enjoy. But me, being the idiot that I was back then, waved it off as something that didn't pose that much of a threat, and didn't think about it again until I arrived in England. I learned to trust my gut instincts after how wrong I was.

November 13, 1897, morning

We arrived in England yesterday morning. Very convenient timing, I must say, as I could get straight to work on my plans as soon as nightfall hit. The Count still hadn't stirred by this time, and I was worried that I truly might have killed him, but no, as when we pulled back the lid off of that wretched coffin when we reached home, there he was, asleep like a baby with a serene expression on his face. Albeit, he still needed to be cleaned up quite a bit so I wouldn't have to see his own and others' old blood caked all over him. Lord knows he is gruesome enough now as it is.

I must admit, I could not wait for nightfall to begin…

-Abraham Van Helsing

I could. I definitely could have waited for nightfall to hit. Hell, I now wish that it had never come in the first place.

I remember when that dreadful cover of darkness fell and I heard the top of my coffin being pushed to the side; the feel of that wretched wooden stake being pulled out of my heart. Needless to say, both actions were rather uncomfortable when I was just sleeping peacefully where I was supposed to be, minding my own business.

I had stirred and opened my eyes, and I must say, coming face to face with your murderer is quite the wake up call. At the sight of my enemy, a growl escaped my throat, and quite a pathetic one at that, and could you blame me? One usually cannot produce a menacing growl after just coming back from the verge of death, so to speak.

“Well, well,” Van Helsing had said, “it's nice to finally see you up and awake, Count.”

I made a move to lash out at him, but I realized I couldn't. I was too weak; too helpless. It disgusts me to think of it now; being in such a vulnerable state.

“Now, now, my No Life King. Let us not get too rash, shall we?” Van Helsing suggested, a hint of a mocking tone in his voice. “Besides, I'd like you to hear me out; to hear what I have to offer you. You can at least do that much, can't you?”

As if I had any choice in the matter! I couldn't even move I was so hungry and injured. Where would I be going where I wouldn't have to listen to him?

“Why…” I rasped, pausing to wet my cracked and parched lips. “Why didn't you leave me to die in peace?”

A snort escaped him.

“You? You, the once mighty No Life King, is asking to die? I never thought I'd live to see the day.”

“Just state what you want, you bastard.”

“Impatient today, aren't we? Well, since you insist, I have a proposition for you, Count. My proposition is this: I will let you live if you agree to serve my family as long as there is a Helsing heir present.”

“Have you gone insane, Abraham? You know I'd never let myself be bound by servitude to you!” I said, trying to turn my words into a tone of short, barking laughter, but failing miserably, only succeeding in producing a scratchy croak instead.

A resounding “bang” penetrated my ears. Van Helsing's hands had hit the side of my coffin, much in the same way my current master slams her hands down onto her desk whenever she loses her temper. I bet many of you can now venture a guess as to where she gets that little personality quirk from.

“You really don't have a choice in the matter at the moment! You will serve my family in any way it sees fit, No Life King!” Van Helsing roared, enraged; his nostrils flaring.

I have to admit, I was expecting as much.

“Then why the hell are you even asking?” I queried, agitated. He had woken me up for this?

“Because I wanted to make it at least seem like you had a choice!” he responded, still shouting at what was probably the top of his lungs.

“Well, its obviously not working as smoothly as you would have liked it to, is it?” I mockingly asked back.

Even when looking death straight in the eye, I still manage to have the nerve to spout backtalk. To be honest though, it's never proved as helpful than it is harmful to myself.

“Then prepare to suffer the consequences, you poor excuse for a midian,” Van Helsing had said in anything barely more than a whisper, but the sharpness of his words, even when laced behind such a soft tone, told me that his dangerous intent was still there, lingering just below the surface.

The still bloody stake had been raised above his head at that point, and once again, it had come down upon my heart, plunging my world into darkness once more.

November 14, 1897, midnight

The placement of the control art restriction system seals is complete, though we can't call it a complete success as of yet as I fear an instability inside of the seals' inner workings. Some side effects might occur as well until our vampire “pet” gets adjusted to them or at least until a better quality restriction system has been developed. I suspect that disorientation, drowsiness, nausea, vomiting, and prolonged hunger (which, to a vampire, commonly causes hostility and violence) will be the ones that we should be out on the lookout for, just incase they prove a little too strenuous on the Count. However, how many or how little symptoms the Count will suffer from still remains a complete mystery to me. I presume we shall find out soon enough, as his wooden stake that was once embedded in him by my own hand has once again been pulled out and removed, so he should be waking up presently. All I can do at the moment now is to wait. I must wait. Wait and pray…

-Abraham Van Helsing

I remember waking up, and for a moment, I didn't know who or where I was. The room was just a colorful, spinning blur, and I had trouble regaining a hold back onto my bearings. The only good news at the moment was that I was somehow still alive and strong enough to move again. Looking back on that day now, it makes me wonder who, or what, fed me. Whose blood had I taken? Well, whosever it was, it obviously wasn't very filling due to the hunger that was gnawing at my stomach at that time. I now suspect, with the symptoms I had felt, it was probably the blood of some animal's. Animal blood never is as filling as human blood is. But I wasn't really too concerned with that at the time.

I had heard footsteps at that moment and pushed myself up into a sitting position. Where the hell was I? Was I back at home?

After taking in a taste of the air, a low growl rose up in the back recesses of my throat. Helsing…

I knew that smell anywhere. A vampire never forgets the stench of the mortal enemies he encounters.

Red crossed my vision. What was Van Helsing doing here?! What was he trying to accomplish by skulking around at night in my private lair?! He must have finally lost it and snapped. After all, everybody knew that taking on a vampire in the middle of the night was a rather stupid thing to do.

That had brought a smile to my lips. At last, I could now finally rid myself of his pestilence once and for all. But then reality hit me full in the face. I was still residing in the dungeon of the Helsing manor. I had gone nowhere.

He halted in his advance to stand in front of me, and for those few long seconds of silence, we just stared (or glared in my case) each other down.

“Are you feeling any better, Vampire?” he asked me, a smile adorning his lips.

I hissed in response and angrily lashed out a hand to try and take his head off, snarling. But Abraham just stood there, unmoving, that same sick and twisted smile plastered on his face.

At first, I couldn't figure out why he wasn't running away screaming or, at the very least, reaching for his crucifix, but then I felt it; a tight constricting feeling, a hold around my body that would have suffocated and cut a normal human's circulation off. But I didn't need to perform those meaningless human bodily functions to live, because, as you well know, I am not human, nor am I normal. Hell, I'm not even alive. But soon, that pressure turned into a horrible burning sensation, like a crucifix of solid silver was being pressed against my skin.

I admit that I didn't even try to suppress the agonizing cry of pain that was wrenched from my lips. I only had a single thought in those few seconds of sheer brutality: It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Make it stop. Please. It hurts.

But it didn't stop. It didn't stop at all.

Flesh was burned away from my face. Bones were exposed; an empty shell of what used to be. Eventually, I just stopped trying to have the strength to resist what was hurting me anymore…whatever it was.

I remember I kept thinking: If I truly die, will that stop the pain? Will that release me from my own personal Hell?

And then it was gone, just as quickly as it had come. It was as if all those few seconds of pain and struggling had turned into hours; the endless vortex of eternity. As soon as I had surrendered myself and gave in, all the pain, all the cruelty, and all the inhumane treatment stopped. All I had to do was relent in my rage and madness, and my punishment would be halted in its tracks. If that was all I had to do though, then I was in for quite a rough ride, as I was definitely not someone who relented easily, especially in the hands of my worst enemy. And speaking of hands…when I looked down at my own gloved ones, something about them had changed. What on earth were restrictive seals doing on my gloves? Those definitely weren't there before. But then my brain finally put two and two together. The pain, the constricting; all of those tortures had something to do with the seals now residing on my personage.

“What did you do to me?!” I had raged. “Damn you, Helsing! What did you do?! Answer me, you filthy human!”

My rage hadn't lasted for very long though, as the room spun around me once again, causing me to lean over the side of my coffin and heave what little contents I had in my empty stomach onto the stone floor with a sickening “squelch”.

“Hmm…It seems we still have quite a few kinks left to work out of those control art restriction seals,” Van Helsing said, hand rubbing his chin, a sign I later learned that meant he was in deep thought. “Oh, and those side effects will wear off as soon as you get used to the seals placed upon you, Count,” he added offhandedly, as if it was an afterthought. “And I do hope that mess that you just made gets cleaned up.”

He chuckled to himself at his own joke as if finding something highly amusing about it.

I never did figure out why he found my vomit so humorous.

“You didn't answer my question,” I growled weakly, my stomach still churning.

“Ah yes, that,” Van Helsing said, turning his attention back towards me. “That would be a type of control art restriction system seal. Those seals do exactly what they sound like they do—they keep your dark magics under control. After all, we can't have you running around wild without your leash on, can we, hm?”

I snarled in response. He had been mocking me!

“The seals work on seven different levels, excluding the full power release level of zero,” he continued. “The lower the number, the higher the power level will be and how much of your power will be relinquished by the seal. You, yourself, Count, can control this. However, so can your master, and said master must approve of the release if you decide to activate it yourself, so don't think you are off the hook just quite yet. Of course, I don't feel like I need to explain what happens when you refuse or disobey orders and retaliate against your master as it seems you have already figured it out.” And with that, he had turned on his heel and strode out the door, leaving me in my newly found pain and misery. Needless to say, I was furious and screamed back at him in German, completely forgetting my spoken English.

“Ich werde Sie verdammen, Helsing!” [1]

I could hear his laughter fading as he walked farther away from the door. It was that laughter that sealed my fate and caused the wheels of my destruction to turn…

[1] Literally means, “I will condemn you, Helsing”, but can also be used asa rough translation for“damn you”.

Author's Note: I would first like to thank my step-grandfather for helping me with the German. Without him, I probably would have messed it up somehow. Also, while this was intended to be a oneshot, I felt this story would go on a little bit too long and test people's patience, so I decided to split it up into chapters for easier reading.And, of course, constructive criticism is encouraged.