Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Six Thousand Years ❯ On a Plane ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: Neither Highlander nor Hellsing belong to me. And I don't earn any money with them.

 

A/N: Second part of the `Six Thousand' series. Follows `Six Thousand Years in a Bar'. Many thanks to Ora_la_Fay for the long and inspiring discussions about Hellsing and Highlander-Universe.

 

 

 

 

Six Thousand Years on a Plane

 

Tiredly, Methos put his on-board luggage into the compartment for take-off. Then, weary to his bones, he sagged into his uncomfortable economy-class seat. His past few months had been hellish, always spent on the run from governments, hunters, and other Immortals. And his future years did not promise to turn out better.

 

Actually, he had been wondering how long it would take humans to put together a few pictures and dates that just couldn't be explained away by look-alike relatives. And then, that day had come. Ever since, there had been a man-hunt for all immortals. Every government wanted to have some for themselves as soldiers, secret ops, and highly valuable test subjects. After all, they were perfectly healthy, survived in deadly conditions, and always returned to a standard setting.

 

Then, there were others. Hunters who delighted in stalking prey that promised to give a good chase. Admires who wanted to know all about past times. Followers who wanted to become immortal, too. And it was only a matter of time until they would catch up to him. They had researchers digging through old archives, facial recognition programs going over picture databanks to catch every potential candidate for immortality. Thankfully, the Watchers had stayed out of this mess - so far. He didn't want to think what would happen if they decided to get involved, too.

 

In this modern world, it had become virtually impossible to hide away.

 

Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to relax a little bit. He had done his best in hacking government data to erase any traces of his existence, and that job should hold long enough for him to get off this plane again and out into Tibetan wilderness. Because of its high altitude and the even higher mountains surrounding it, Tibet had become one of the last resorts where it was still possible to vanish for months or even years. No surveillance cameras, few people, and vast stretches of very hostile land. Methos just hoped that not too many other Immortals had the same idea. And that MacLeod, whom he had lost track of ever since the beginning of the Immortal Hunts, had made it.

 

Other people boarded the plane, most of them Asians that either were going on holidays or returning to their home country. None of them looked like a Hunter. At one point he thought he felt another Immortal, but that feeling quickly vanished again. Perhaps the other one had become afraid of him. Or perhaps the other one was boarding a different plane. Or it was a Pre-Immortal. He didn't know, and he didn't really care beyond the fact that the other was gone. None of them should have sensed him because he had reigned in his Quickening until it could be the one of a 50 year old Immortal. Not very powerful at all.

 

He kept on studying the people coming onto the plane, trying to identify whether they were a danger to him. A white couple caught his attention, him very tall with long, black hair, and her a very petite woman with an incredibly large bust size and incredibly short miniskirt.

 

He could be one of those pale Goths or Heavy Metal fans, or some other group like that. He certainly was dressed all in black, but without any metal spikes or other accessory. Instead, it was a plain black shirt, plain black trousers, and a thick, woolen black coat. His face looked vaguely familiar, but after more than 5000 years of experience, pretty much every facial type was familiar.

 

She, however, could easily be a porn-star with that kind of … minimalist outfit. Her shaggy, reddish-blond hair fell into her face, overshadowing her eyes with a hint of mystery, her stride being smooth and sensual. Both her miniskirt and her blazer accentuated her exceedingly curvy figure in deep hues of royal blue. With her plentiful assets, she was prime material for manly fantasies.

 

But it seemed that she was already taken. Something told him that she and the man belonged together. It wasn't so much their interactions - they didn't talk to each other, and he never looked back if she was following him. It was nothing tangible, nothing as overt as blatant sexual attraction, but nonetheless as clear as day to him.

 

They were moving past the rows of seats in the same controlled manner that just screamed danger to him, as if they were stalking something. The man was reading the seat numbers displayed on both sides of the isle, never looking at Methos more than with a passing glance. But somehow, he felt that the two of them were observing him closely.

 

And they homed in on the two seats next to him.

 

He pretended to be asleep, to not notice their nearing presence. Were they coming for him?

 

Ruthlessly, he suppressed his panic with centuries of experience. It would help him nothing if he lost his head - figuratively, of course. He had managed to smuggle a ceramic knife on board, a small blade in a wrist-holster. It consisted of a special alloy that passed through metal detectors without problems. That had to be enough protection to keep him from loosing his head literally, too.

 

And now he regretted taking the seat at the window because the strange couple could box him in. With no way to avert disaster, he bid his time. Even in the worst case, if they were government scientists and caught him, he would survive - somehow - and a few centuries later, he could perhaps laugh about his stupidity.

 

With mounting anxiety, he watched them stop at his isle, putting their luggage in the overhead compartment next to his. They gave nothing away as to their intentions towards him. There was no Federal ID telling him to follow them out of the plane. They didn't threaten him. They didn't even talk to him. They behaved like normal passengers.

 

The man and his - wife? girlfriend? - sat down, cutting off his escape route. And they were ignoring him completely beyond a curious glance that anybody might give a sleeping stranger.

 

It took almost all his concentration to keep playing asleep and unaffected. Who - or, better, what were they? What did they want from him? Did they want anything?

 

They were a strange pair with their pale skin and almost unnatural grace. They moved just like countless predators he had seen before: coiled steel still relaxed, but ready to strike within a moment's notice. All his nerves were grating against his skin, telling him to get out of their proximity because they were dangerous.

 

From nearly closed eyes he watched them interact. They gave no signs of noticing him. But Methos had a feeling that the man, who had sat down right next to him, was very much aware of him. The couple didn't talk to each other, didn't touch each other. They hardly even looked at each other. And it made his hairs stand on end.

 

Since the man was almost as tall as him, the economy class seat should have been quite uncomfortable. The man made it look like a king's throne, with his queen to his right hand. The woman had no problem fitting into the chair, crossing her ankles with a modesty in stark contrast to the miniskirt that, even seated, barely reached mid-thigh. She sat there primly, her hands folded in her lap like a school-girl, looking around with bored curiosity. And there was something unnatural about them.

 

But if they wanted to pretend that they didn't notice him, who was he to discourage them?

 

Closing his eyes completely, he only kept his ears open. Ten minutes later, the plane lifted into the air, and they still hadn't made a move. Nonetheless, he would not fall asleep. Despite his exhaustion, there was far too much danger around as long as he didn't know why they were there.

 

______

 

 

Smirking, Alucard studied the thin, exhausted man from the corner of his eye. The swordsman looked worse than at their first meeting ten years ago, but not a year older. The hunt was almost over; what happened now all depended on the swordsman.

 

The swordsman thought he could fool him by pretending to be asleep, but his heartbeat was far too fast for anything resembling relaxation. Despite his outward appearance, the swordsman was very tense, probably sensing the proximity of the two vampires.

 

Ever since meeting the swordsman in a bar, he had kept an eye out for similar people, but had never found one just like the swordsman. He had met a few whose blood faintly tasted of that sizzling tingle the swordsman had had. None of them had borne any other resemblance to the swordsman, neither in taste nor in entertainment value. They had been normal humans with some extra spice, nothing more.

 

When he had returned to the pub the next day, the swordsman had not returned. Not that he had really expected it; the swordsman had seemed smarter than the regular cattle running amuck. And he was very skilled at vanishing. Alucard had managed to track him down to a flat a few blocks away, but it had been vacated the previous day. From there on, he had lost the trail.

 

He had amused himself for some time by sampling every human he came across in a vain attempt to find someone similar to the swordsman. Neither his master nor the Police Girl knew that he could work around his seal as far as biting mortals. As long as he took only small amounts of blood, he could keep the seal away because he didn't threat their lives. And mortal minds were so weak; a small suggestion of his power was enough to convince them that they had participated in some sexual games and that the puncture wounds were nothing more than a bite mark from an overenthusiastic lover.

 

When that had grown boring, he had returned to curing the Police Girl of her terribly human sentiments. It was a shame that his very own creation preferred to play cattle instead of taking her rightful place in the food chain. With such mortal nonsense as reluctance to drink blood, she would never be much stronger than those artificial FREAKs, a perversion of vampiric existence.

 

By now, more than ten years later, she at least drank medical blood of her own volition. But she still refused steadfastly to drink from a live specimen, much less draining humans. Despite his protests, his Master had put restraining seals on her after the first time she had given in to her bloodlust. Just when the Police Girl had made the first move towards harnessing her vampiric heritage, she had been crippled by Lady Integra.

 

After almost a year of nothing interesting happening, his Master had been of the opinion that the Police Girl had become strong enough to handle matters on her own and had sealed him away once again. Not even a year later, she had freed him once again, after the Police Girl had nearly been killed by an upstart vampire who had decided to declare London his territory.

 

At least he had been allowed to rip that intruder apart limb from limb, and his Master had briefly granted him access to all his power. The upstart vampire wouldn't have been a real challenge, even if Alucard had lifted only one or two levels of the seal. But it had been fun showing that youngling just what a vampire was capable of. He'd had such a nice look of fear on his face, and his blood had been moderately strong, even if that youngster was not particularly skilled. It had been glorious to dissolve once again into that darkness that was a second home for vampires. Something the Police Girl would never be able to experience with those seals binding her before she'd had her first real taste.

 

Afterwards, his Master had at least seen reason, that sealing him away would only invite new disaster. And the Police Girl had been somewhat more amenable to vampiric ways of life. But, nonetheless, it grated on him to be tethered to a human, reigned in like a bloodhound. What should have been his natural right had been reduced to rare occasions of glorious mayhem, with intermittent spaces filled by utter boredom.

 

Then, almost a year ago, Immortals had been discovered.

 

It had not taken long for him to remember the swordsman in the bar and make the connection. The smell of steel, the taste of electricity, the talk of his special kind, the knowledge of ancient magics. He would be surprised if the swordsman wasn't one of those Immortals, probably even older than him. That would at least explain the unknown blood composition.

 

Not long after their discovery, Immortals became hunted. They had been declared as dangerous. Whatever mortals didn't understand had to be tested, dissected, taken apart until they thought they could grasp it in their puny minds. And then, it had to be controlled, to be made profitable. Through whatever means possible.

 

He had then tracked down a few of those Immortals, and they had indeed had that pungent taste of electricity. Knowing what he had to look for, he had been able to sense the stronger ones a block away. None of their blood though had been strong enough to hurt him like that of the swordsman. It had burned a little, nothing serious. And none of them had known what he was or felt his darkness. None of them had tasted even remotely like the swordsman. They had tasted young, three centuries at most. Some had not even outlived regular mortals.

 

All in all, Immortals had turned out as some juiced up sort of human, only slightly more interesting than mortals because of their refusal to stay dead and their electric presence. They never even came close to Iscariot Regenerators, neither in skill nor in the amusement department. The only thing they'd be good for was a more permanent source of nourishment.

 

That had led him to the impression that the swordsman had been an exception, even amongst the immortal exception of humanity. And it had furthered his curiosity.

 

After nearly six months of continuous effort, he had finally managed to track the swordsman down. It had been just in the nick of time; should the swordsman have escaped to Tibet, it would have become nearly impossible to follow him. But now, the prey had finally come to the clutches of the predator.

 

With a small smirk, he realized that the swordsman next to him was still pretending to be asleep, even breathing in a slow, regular pattern. His electric presence was muted, almost undetectable. It had the strength of one of the younger ones that hadn't outlived their mortal companions yet. But it was far more ordered and controlled, giving the impression of hidden depths.

 

The plane had taken off some time ago, and the swordsman still hadn't made a move. Apparently, the swordsman had not recognized him. Cackling silently to himself, Alucard decided that it was time to begin the fun. The Police Girl was starting to get confused, looking more and more often at him in askance.

 

Watch and learn, he projected towards her, taking care to make her jump with the suddenness.

 

She frowned, her glance passing from him to the still pretending swordsman.

 

Is he the one?

 

Instead of answering, he lifted some of the restraints he kept on his dark magic, snaking a small tendril of invisible shadows towards the swordsman.

 

_______________

 

Methos' bad feeling had not stopped after take-off; instead, it had intensified every passing second. Something was wrong with the couple next to him, but he didn't know what. Were they agents for one of the bio-tech companies that loved to test their new inventions on `safe' test subjects first? Were they going to cart him off the plane as soon as they landed again?

 

Pretending to remain asleep was getting harder every minute, and the unnatural stillness of the man next to him unnerved him. The man didn't sigh, he didn't fidget, he didn't talk. Over the noise of the turbines, Methos could only hear the family behind them and the businessman typing on his notebook in front of him. Nothing from the couple next to him.

 

When the stewardess had come by half an hour ago, the woman had politely declined any refreshments for both of them. Her voice was soft, but deeper than he had expected. It was clear that, despite her looks, she had nothing girlish on her. That kind of voice belonged to a woman. Afterwards, she had turned utterly still once again.

 

Methos had hoped to get at least some sleep on this flight because he was exhausted, but it was too dangerous with those two next to him. He didn't dare relax until he was sure he was in no danger from anybody. And those two were as far from safe as one could imagine. Despite not having anything concrete to prove his feelings, he listened to his subconsciousness. His intuition had saved his skin more than once.

 

And now, it was telling him that the man was gradually leaning into his space.

 

He cracked open an eyelid, trying to see what the man was doing. To his surprise though, the man was still in the same position he had been in at the beginning of the flight. He hadn't even turned his head. But the rising hairs at the back of his neck were telling him that something was invading his personal space, coming closer with increasing pressure.

 

The woman seemed to have felt something, too, because for the first time, she was looking from him to the man and back again. She seemed to be watching for some reaction, curious about something. Were they testing a new way of detecting Immortals?

 

It was becoming more and more difficult to keep calm, breathing steadily through his mounting anxiety. If there was a way for mortals to detect Immortals from afar, his life and the lives of all Immortals were forfeit.

 

It felt as if something was touching his Quickening, not like the steady buzz of another Immortal, but something darker, more subtle. That something was feeling its way along his Quickening, starting to surround him and push inwards.

 

His concentration now completely focused on his Quickening, he let the foreign power push it back towards him. With the iron discipline he had trained into himself dozens of centuries ago, he reigned in his Quickening even further until he knew it felt like that of a Pre-Immortal.

 

Deep in the meditative trance of controlling every smallest speck of his energy, there was no place left for fear when the foreign power followed him and surrounded him. What little of him wasn't focused on keeping all of his Quickening pent up within himself was fervently trying to find a way out of the situation.

 

The force surrounding him kept amassing, growing darker and stronger with every second. Somehow, that power felt like the dark man sitting next to him. And, somewhere beyond that man, there was a second power that felt somewhat similar, but by far not as strong. It reminded him of something… someplace…

 

Thankfully, it took all of his will-power to keep his Quickening in check, not allowing him to waste an ounce on counterproductive emotions like fear or anxiety. Instead, pure knowledge flooded his mind. His voice stayed calm, almost dreamily in such a deep state of meditation.

 

“I thought vampires had to stay in touch with the ground?”

 

_____________________

 

Alucard knew that the smirk spreading across his features was unnerving, and he relished in the Police-Girl's surprise. It was interesting to see how completely the swordsman had his energy in check. At the barest touch of his vampiric magic, the swordsman had withdrawn into himself, his presence becoming almost nonexistent. It was shored up behind walls so thick that he barely could feel anything through them. And still, the swordsman showed no reaction. His heartbeat had even slowed, resembling a state akin to sleep. Was the swordsman really falling asleep in his presence?

 

Alucard's grin became edgy, pouring more of his dark power against the swordsman. How dare that human fall asleep! The swordsman's heart skipped one beat, then continued as regularly as before.

 

Master?

 

The Police Girl must have felt his rising irritation, but she was interrupted by the swordsman's question. All of his edginess turned into manic glee when he realized that the swordsman was well aware of them. A marvelous charade. He rewarded the swordsman with an answer - but of course one that wasn't very helpful.

 

“As long as the ground stays in touch with us, that is no problem.”

 

For the first time since they had boarded the plane, the swordsman opened his eyes fully and studied him without trying to hide it. There was only a slight hitch in the swordsman's breathing pattern, but together with another skipped heartbeat and the slight widening of his eyes, it spoke of another moment of surprise. The swordsman's eyes wandered from him to the Police Girl and back again several times, then focused on him.

 

“She looks nothing like a Hellsing.”

 

He growled. So the swordsman remembered him, and apparently remembered him well enough to mention small details of their conversation more than ten years prior. Flashing his fangs briefly, he warned the swordsman to keep his tongue in check.

 

“She is mine.”

 

Master!, the Police Girl whined, probably taking offense based on some human concepts of possessions and belongings. She stretched out her hand towards the swordsman.

 

“My name is Seras Victoria. Nice to meet you.”

 

With barely a sign of hesitation, the swordsman shook the offered hand and nodded.

 

“Ben Adams, at your service.”

 

The fake name the swordsman had bought his ticket under. Alucard caught the swordsman's brief glance down at the Police Girl's glove that was decorated with a seal similar to his. He barely restrained a cackle when the swordsman looked back at him, still giving nothing away. This second meeting was indeed turning out just as entertaining as their first.

 

Despite clearly being the inferior this time around, the swordsman didn't back down and didn't show any fear. His breathing was even, his heartbeat steady, his voice calm.

 

“That red trench-coat suited you much better.”

 

____________

 

Although the vampire had let up with his dark magic, Methos still remained in his meditation. It was easier to think clearly and strategically that way. He couldn't afford showing any signs of weakness, now more than ever.

 

After the discovery of Immortals, the vampire had probably realized what Methos was, and as such also knew all of his strength and weaknesses. He doubted that their meeting was a coincidence. Everything, from their first arrival to the way the vampire had gradually played his strength against Methos' Quickening, had seemed planned. The only question was by whom, and to what ends.

 

He wondered how much it would take to survive this time.

 

The vampire's manic behavior clearly had not let up over the years, because he had thrown his head back and was cackling loudly after that comment about his trench-coat. The woman - his fledgling, judging by her strength and the resemblance to his power - looked confused and not very sure of herself. If he had to, he could probably kill her, but not the old one who had turned her. And fighting with vampires on a plane 30,000 feet in the air was not a good plan for survival anyways.

 

The vampire abruptly stopped cackling and focused his attention back on Methos. Even in his trance, a small shiver of anxiety ran down his back. The vampire's voice was dangerously devoid of inflection.

 

“My Master would like to offer you a job. She thinks you will make a positive contribution to her organization.”

 

Instead of wasting time with being surprised, he immediately dissected that offer in search of hidden traps and pitfalls.

 

After meeting that vampire in a bar, he had looked up the Hellsing family and had found out that they were the local pest control. They worked most efficiently and were always looking for experienced fighters. It was a dangerous job, but not as dangerous as refusing this vampire. Especially now that the vampire was aware of how to kill him permanently.

 

He had no doubt that the vampire had started similar inquiries into his past, but he was quite certain that the undead hadn't dug up anything important. Methos had spent too much time creating false identities, dead trails, and confusion amongst the Watchers for anyone to follow his past more than two hundred years. That meant that at least part of the reason for that new job offer was to satisfy the vampire's curiosity. And perhaps to get some of Methos' blood.

 

Ever since recognizing the vampire again, he had been certain that there was no coincidence in their meeting. Vampires always had a hidden agenda, especially the old ones. The offer of a place with Hellsing had not come completely unexpected, but it was a surprise nonetheless.

 

Did Lady Hellsing really want him to join her vampire extermination group? She was notorious for being independent from any government decisions, obeying only the Queen. As long as she achieved the desired results, nobody would question her on the way she ran Hellsing. She already had two vampires in her employment, and nobody had said anything yet. It would be a perfect hiding place for a fugitive Immortal.

 

A little bit too perfect for his tastes.

 

Despite Lady Hellsing being the vampire's Master, he had little doubt that it had been the vampire's idea to contact him. Perhaps the vampire had needled her until she had given in. Or she had been looking for a strong Immortal to incorporate into her organization, and the undead had volunteered Methos' service. He had his suspicions, but he nevertheless asked.

 

“And what is your opinion on me joining Hellsing?”

 

A slow smirk spread over those gaunt features, hollow cheeks shadowed by long, black hair.

 

“Why do you think she is asking you?”

 

He had feared something like that. He should never have sat down and talked with that vampire ten years ago. Catching his interest had been a grave mistake. Now, the vampire would do everything to get Methos into Hellsing and thus under his control. And because of the political situation for Immortals, Methos had no choice but comply. One word from the vampire, and he would have every hunter in the world on his tracks.

 

Those inhuman eyes spoke of a mirth that could only stem from the knowledge that Methos was well and truly cornered. And Methos knew it, too. There was no way that he could refuse the offer without essentially committing suicide. And, despite having lived for five millennia, he still wasn't ready to die.

 

As hard as the decision was for him, MacLeod probably would have to wait for a while longer. That didn't mean though that he should let the vampire walk over him without any resistance. “I am no … Protestant.”

 

Methos briefly relaxed his hold on his Quickening to make clear what exactly he meant by `Protestant'. The vampire seemed to have caught on, but his fledgling - Seras? Victoria? Which of those two was her first name? - seemed as confused as ever. A brief moment later, her expression turned into a smile. Apparently the rumors about fledglings sharing a mental bond with their sire were true.

 

She smiled, and it was clear that she also meant it. Her features had not yet taken on the undead appearance of her sire, and her whole behavior was still very human. Seras seemed honestly friendly towards him. For the first time in their encounter, she was taking the initiative.

 

“Oh, that doesn't matter. Your experience is what Lady Hellsing wants. As long as you can get used to praying at least once a day, you'll feel right at home.”

 

He had to smile in response, her exuberance being contagious. But he never forgot the old one watching him like a hawk. How long could they talk until he intervened? Carefully, he asked:

 

“Are there others of … non-Protestant faith?”

 

She shook her head. “No, I don't think so. Lady Hellsing has said that she doesn't want to have any fights on her hand.”

 

The offer sounded too good to be true. A place to hide from both mortal and immortal hunters, safe from any government influence, and the chance to keep up with his training. The only thing that worried him were the two vampires. An Immortal would be like paradise on earth for them. Methos was especially concerned about the old one because he had already tasted Methos' blood.

 

Taking a deep breath, Methos decided that it wouldn't do to avoid that subject forever.

 

“Regular donations?”

 

He almost held his breath at the predatory expression on the old one's face. The still nameless vampire flashed his fangs, clearly more than amused by the question.

 

“Of course,” the vampire purred with his blood-red eyes glinting maliciously.

 

The woman smiled apologetically, apparently trying to mediate. “There are some who are dependent on such donations.”

 

Methos sighed, not having expected any less. “Well, then it's good that I am wealthier than most. But even I don't have infinite riches.”

 

Seras Victoria seemed very concerned with making him feel at ease. “Don't worry. Everybody only gives as much as they can without endangering their fortune. And you are not the only one. Everything will work out, you will see.”

 

_____________

 

The swordsman nodded towards the Police Girl, showing that he understood. He looked back at Alucard, probably to ask whether he had to add anything. Alucard smirked sardonically.

 

“If you don't prove … satisfactory, I am sure there are other candidates lining up. But it would be a pity if you missed such an interesting job offer because of a wrong attitude.”

 

Alucard knew true and well that he had cornered the swordsman and that his threat wasn't necessary. The swordsman was not stupid.

 

Judging by his expression, the swordsman had already recognized the futility of struggling before asking his first question. But it was amusing to see how the swordsman's eyes flashed briefly, showing that he was not cowed by the vampires' presences. Despite his lack of power in their confrontation, the swordsman proved himself to be levelheaded, thinking clearly in the face of danger. A pity that he couldn't scare him with his hellhound. It would be interesting to catalogue the swordsman's expressions when faced with the shadowy non-entity. However; that could be saved for a different occasion.

 

Leaning back, the swordsman nodded. Despite assuming a relaxed posture, his eyes never left Alucard's face. “Wages are to be discussed with Lady Hellsing, I assume?”

 

“Certainly.” How long would the swordsman keep the conversation going?

 

The calculating glint in the swordsman's eyes became more and more prominent. “Is there a health plan?”

 

Alucard raised his eyebrows. Being immortal, the swordsman had no use for a health plan, and he doubted that it was a cover like the question about Protestant faith. Was the swordsman deliberately testing his patience?

 

“What do you mean with `health plan'?”

 

A slight smirk formed on the swordsman's lips as he answered flippantly. “Oh, I don't know. Life insurance, health care, retirement plan?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Alucard decided hat the swordsman was slowly crossing the boundary to becoming bothersome. It was already gracious of him to give the swordsman any warning about his impending employment at all, and the swordsman just had to take advantage of that.

 

Was he doing that just to annoy Alucard? To test his boundaries?

 

And he wasn't even allowed to give the swordsman a real scare. Showing off his shadow beast was becoming more and more appealing. So he did the next best thing, one to guarantee that he had the last word in their conversation.

 

“As if you needed one.” Alucard's voice turned dark as he laced it with most of the energy he could access without lifting a level of his seal. He formed as powerful a compulsion as he could make with his limited resources. “Now sleep. You would make no good impression on my Master if you keeled over during your interview.”

 

He heard the Police Girl's mental snigger at that image. Beneath his artificial tranquility, the swordsman looked amused, raising one eyebrow at the vampire. Alucard could feel the electric energy that the swordsman had pooled inside his skin. It stood sharply against Alucard's Dark Arts, and felt almost impenetrable. To his increasing peevedness, the swordsman actually managed to withstand the onslaught, the electric energy buffering him from the compulsion.

 

For a moment, Alucard thought the swordsman would say something, but then the swordsman nodded mutely. He felt the swordsman relax his hold on his powers and deliberately let the sleep-suggestion slip through, looking at the vampire with a knowing glint in his eyes. A few moments later, the swordsman was well and truly unconscious, his electric power returning to that of a young Immortal.

 

What a vexatious discovery. Could the swordsman throw off all compulsions? That would bear further investigation, as well as anything else the swordsman was capable of. None of the other Immortals he had met had even the tiniest amount of control over their energy.

 

What do you think of him, Police Girl?

 

She cocked her head to the side and studied the sleeping form some more. I like him, Master. I think the next few years will become very interesting.

 

He barely restrained himself from giving voice to the malicious cackle that threatened to burst forth from his chest. His Master had given him explicit instructions to not attract any mortal attention. And he well and truly knew the effect of his laughter on those sheep surrounding him.

 

You are right, Police Girl. Things are going to become interesting. Soon.

 

_____________________

 

A/N: Any suggestion / comments? Should I continue the series? I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 

Sakiku