<s> [This fic is currently unavailable; it was refluffed and entered in a writing contest, so no versions can exist on the Internet until mid-April 2012. Suck it, Turnitin.com!] </s>
[This fic won honorable mention in a writing contest! I got $25 for it. ^_^]
--
Title: Humanity's Virtues
Canon: Hellsing
Author's Note/Warnings:
:huh: Speculation: This fic contains two major deviations from the canon, one in terms of speculation on the Millenium HQ (we never really see exactly what it all looks like anyway), the other in terms of physiological speculation, neither of which the series (technically) neither proves nor disproves.
:huh: Foreign rank: Please do not count off for misspelling on the grounds that 'leutnant' is a rank. Specifically an O-1. It just doesn't happen to be in English.
Thanks for reading!
--
Drip.
Drip.
Drip...
The last few drops of seawater echoed against the metal floor. Barely able to walk with exertion, their source didn't pay much attention, and anyway the small sounds like water dripping and her ragged breathing were nearly drowned out by the echoing footsteps, and their reverberations around the hallway. The halls themselves, aside from a few details, were surprisingly office-like, once you got away from the industrial sections and the motor pool, and all the other accoutrement that the compound needed to function. The bare concrete floors sounded with every heavy step, making her headache worse. Not so much that, like a human, a vampire would ever get a headache from being short on oxygen. More that the whole way back from her failed mission, the only thought in her mind had been what would be waiting at home.
If you could call this place a home...
"Ah, back already?" When the door opened, the Major looked up from what, if she had to guess, was a book of records. She didn't have any desire to come close enough to check. "I'm getting the sense that the mission did not go as planned."
"Hah... n-no sir..."
He nodded slowly, eyes moving down from her drenched hair, to her broken glasses, to her torn, ruined uniform and marked limp.
"Tell me, Van Winkle, what exactly was it this time?" if his expression of disdain was the slightest bit unclear through the spiderweb cracks in her lenses, his tone more than made up for the difference.
"A bird, sir." she resisted the urge to hang her head in shame.
"In the rotors, I presume."
"Yes, sir."
"And you couldn't avoid it?"
Though it seemed to be a rhetorical question (no, sir, I just wanted to cost us another helicopter and all its brand new surveillance gear), Rip lamely shook her head. "No, sir."
"I see..." he flipped the pages in the book and marked something down. "Your musket?"
"In my quarters, sir." after what happened last time she'd resolved never to let him near it again.
"Any damage from the sand? No? Good. We'll begin correction immediately." he reached for his office phone, broad fingers poking at the squared, slippery keys. She felt her stomach twist into knots.
"N-No---I mean please, sir! Please, I'll do better next time! It wasn't my fault--"
"If you had better reflexes and better senses, you could avoid such pitfalls quite easily. Thus, the augmentations we have made so far are not enough." His glasses caught the light and glowed, an opaque shield over his expression. She stumbled a little to come forward, stopping just short of the desk.
"Please sir... permission to speak freely?"
"...granted."
"Please don't let the Doctor do any more corrections. P-Please." in some intellectual corner of her mind she was aware that repeating 'please' over and over would do nothing, but what might have been a leftover instinct and might have been habit wasn't so easily curbed. "Please, it never does any good, it's humiliating and... and... painful and... sir, please, I promise, the next mission will be flawless..."
The Major just sighed.
"It's always something with you, isn't it? You've been squeamish about the corrections since they started."
She had to swallow the stream of curses that welled up. "Sir, that's because they're so horrible--"
"Listen to you! You sound like a child." he glared, eyes still invisible, but it was clear enough with his forehead wrinkled and his lips drawn back in a snarl, clear even between the cracks. He looked to her like a collage of different people, all immeasurably angry, twisted into one big knot. "You are immortal! Nothing short of being torn in two could kill you, and yet you're losing your composure over some medical procedures? I must say, Van Winkle... I expected more from one of my officers."
"B-But sir..." she started, only for the words to die on her tongue as the Major punched in the number for the lab and made a show of putting his finger to his lips, as if telling a small child to be quiet. Rip nodded, waiting patiently and in silence. After all, he'd already made his decision. In a moment, he'd hang up and order her to the basement. Her throat closed up, almost aching, as her gaze finally lowered to the floor.
It took the cessation of the Major's voice and the harsh click of the phone being hung up to draw her attention. He made a shooing motion with his fingers and smiled.
"Dismissed."
Desperation, and fear, straightened her spine, just for a moment. "Sir-- do you have any idea what he does in that lab?! H-Have you ever seen--?"
"I do. I have. Maybe it's never occurred to you why the rooms have those large mirrors? I love to go and watch the Doctor at work. On all of you." he stood, giving Rip a gentle smile. The effect was lost on her for a couple of different reasons, but he didn't seem to care. "All of my precious weapons. Why, in fact I think I'll go there now. Would you accompany me? I believe we're going in the same direction... at least for part of the way."
Bile, as a conditioned response, burnt the back of her tongue. But when the Major stood, and motioned for her to go first, she couldn't refuse. She couldn't plead with him to stop asking the Doctor to do such things, and could never-- ever-- tell him about the way, behind one set of lenses or another, even in the Doctor's calculating eyes there was a little sorrow left when he pulled one of them into the lab. Maybe he meant for them to see it, an atonement. After all, he couldn't refuse an order.
The Doctor met them at the door. Saluting the Major, he nodded briefly when asked if the observation room was open and prepared. It seemed like a habit, as well, and she wondered if this happened every day. As his white cloak vanished around a corner, she looked up at the Doctor, though he appeared a little skewed through the crushed frames, as well.
"Why?" maybe it was the exhaustion from slogging back to the base along the ocean floor, or the withdrawal from that sudden rush of what she could only say was adrenaline, long gone now that the crash was over and done. Maybe it was the wounds or just the fear of what would inevitably come after just these last few moments of waiting: the blades, and the tubes, the bright glaring fluorescent lights, humming as loud as carrion flies. Just thinking about it, her voice rose an octave, shamefully desperate. "The Major is so proud of his humanity, isn't he? Isn't it mercy that's the human virtue? He knows what happens here, why--"
Unexpectedly, the wide smile dropped from the Doctor's lips. As he motioned for her to strip down, one hand fiddled with his goggles, changing the lenses around. He pulled on a set of gloves, lips forming a thin line.
"Because, Leutnant, humanity has many virtues. Mercy is one. Sadism is another."
--
[This fic won honorable mention in a writing contest! I got $25 for it. ^_^]
--
Title: Humanity's Virtues
Canon: Hellsing
Author's Note/Warnings:
:huh: Speculation: This fic contains two major deviations from the canon, one in terms of speculation on the Millenium HQ (we never really see exactly what it all looks like anyway), the other in terms of physiological speculation, neither of which the series (technically) neither proves nor disproves.
:huh: Foreign rank: Please do not count off for misspelling on the grounds that 'leutnant' is a rank. Specifically an O-1. It just doesn't happen to be in English.
Thanks for reading!
--
Drip.
Drip.
Drip...
The last few drops of seawater echoed against the metal floor. Barely able to walk with exertion, their source didn't pay much attention, and anyway the small sounds like water dripping and her ragged breathing were nearly drowned out by the echoing footsteps, and their reverberations around the hallway. The halls themselves, aside from a few details, were surprisingly office-like, once you got away from the industrial sections and the motor pool, and all the other accoutrement that the compound needed to function. The bare concrete floors sounded with every heavy step, making her headache worse. Not so much that, like a human, a vampire would ever get a headache from being short on oxygen. More that the whole way back from her failed mission, the only thought in her mind had been what would be waiting at home.
If you could call this place a home...
"Ah, back already?" When the door opened, the Major looked up from what, if she had to guess, was a book of records. She didn't have any desire to come close enough to check. "I'm getting the sense that the mission did not go as planned."
"Hah... n-no sir..."
He nodded slowly, eyes moving down from her drenched hair, to her broken glasses, to her torn, ruined uniform and marked limp.
"Tell me, Van Winkle, what exactly was it this time?" if his expression of disdain was the slightest bit unclear through the spiderweb cracks in her lenses, his tone more than made up for the difference.
"A bird, sir." she resisted the urge to hang her head in shame.
"In the rotors, I presume."
"Yes, sir."
"And you couldn't avoid it?"
Though it seemed to be a rhetorical question (no, sir, I just wanted to cost us another helicopter and all its brand new surveillance gear), Rip lamely shook her head. "No, sir."
"I see..." he flipped the pages in the book and marked something down. "Your musket?"
"In my quarters, sir." after what happened last time she'd resolved never to let him near it again.
"Any damage from the sand? No? Good. We'll begin correction immediately." he reached for his office phone, broad fingers poking at the squared, slippery keys. She felt her stomach twist into knots.
"N-No---I mean please, sir! Please, I'll do better next time! It wasn't my fault--"
"If you had better reflexes and better senses, you could avoid such pitfalls quite easily. Thus, the augmentations we have made so far are not enough." His glasses caught the light and glowed, an opaque shield over his expression. She stumbled a little to come forward, stopping just short of the desk.
"Please sir... permission to speak freely?"
"...granted."
"Please don't let the Doctor do any more corrections. P-Please." in some intellectual corner of her mind she was aware that repeating 'please' over and over would do nothing, but what might have been a leftover instinct and might have been habit wasn't so easily curbed. "Please, it never does any good, it's humiliating and... and... painful and... sir, please, I promise, the next mission will be flawless..."
The Major just sighed.
"It's always something with you, isn't it? You've been squeamish about the corrections since they started."
She had to swallow the stream of curses that welled up. "Sir, that's because they're so horrible--"
"Listen to you! You sound like a child." he glared, eyes still invisible, but it was clear enough with his forehead wrinkled and his lips drawn back in a snarl, clear even between the cracks. He looked to her like a collage of different people, all immeasurably angry, twisted into one big knot. "You are immortal! Nothing short of being torn in two could kill you, and yet you're losing your composure over some medical procedures? I must say, Van Winkle... I expected more from one of my officers."
"B-But sir..." she started, only for the words to die on her tongue as the Major punched in the number for the lab and made a show of putting his finger to his lips, as if telling a small child to be quiet. Rip nodded, waiting patiently and in silence. After all, he'd already made his decision. In a moment, he'd hang up and order her to the basement. Her throat closed up, almost aching, as her gaze finally lowered to the floor.
It took the cessation of the Major's voice and the harsh click of the phone being hung up to draw her attention. He made a shooing motion with his fingers and smiled.
"Dismissed."
Desperation, and fear, straightened her spine, just for a moment. "Sir-- do you have any idea what he does in that lab?! H-Have you ever seen--?"
"I do. I have. Maybe it's never occurred to you why the rooms have those large mirrors? I love to go and watch the Doctor at work. On all of you." he stood, giving Rip a gentle smile. The effect was lost on her for a couple of different reasons, but he didn't seem to care. "All of my precious weapons. Why, in fact I think I'll go there now. Would you accompany me? I believe we're going in the same direction... at least for part of the way."
Bile, as a conditioned response, burnt the back of her tongue. But when the Major stood, and motioned for her to go first, she couldn't refuse. She couldn't plead with him to stop asking the Doctor to do such things, and could never-- ever-- tell him about the way, behind one set of lenses or another, even in the Doctor's calculating eyes there was a little sorrow left when he pulled one of them into the lab. Maybe he meant for them to see it, an atonement. After all, he couldn't refuse an order.
The Doctor met them at the door. Saluting the Major, he nodded briefly when asked if the observation room was open and prepared. It seemed like a habit, as well, and she wondered if this happened every day. As his white cloak vanished around a corner, she looked up at the Doctor, though he appeared a little skewed through the crushed frames, as well.
"Why?" maybe it was the exhaustion from slogging back to the base along the ocean floor, or the withdrawal from that sudden rush of what she could only say was adrenaline, long gone now that the crash was over and done. Maybe it was the wounds or just the fear of what would inevitably come after just these last few moments of waiting: the blades, and the tubes, the bright glaring fluorescent lights, humming as loud as carrion flies. Just thinking about it, her voice rose an octave, shamefully desperate. "The Major is so proud of his humanity, isn't he? Isn't it mercy that's the human virtue? He knows what happens here, why--"
Unexpectedly, the wide smile dropped from the Doctor's lips. As he motioned for her to strip down, one hand fiddled with his goggles, changing the lenses around. He pulled on a set of gloves, lips forming a thin line.
"Because, Leutnant, humanity has many virtues. Mercy is one. Sadism is another."
--
