Three Weeks Prior
Gregory Scott Cain, also called the Chirurg or Surgeon by some, was operating a Triage tent in some forsaken third world country as a cover for his latest hunt. There had been some Beasts, vampiric in nature, reported hunting locals who had been injured and were defenseless due to the local conflict between government and rebel forces. The usual petty squabbles between ideology, resource allocation, and hatred of one side or the other for the color of their skin or the god they professed faith in. Depressing, really, how petty humanity was towards itself, and yet Beasts had to prey on the weak and defenseless to even be able to survive. Shameful, really, and at this late hour he was fully expecting the trouble like any other night. The previous week had been dull, making little in the way of pay (Technically none, since it was a non profit group sponsoring this tent), in dirty, abysmal conditions, and utterly simple. Gunshot wounds, lacerations, blunt force trauma, all mindlessly easy affairs for a man in his early fifties and spent most of those years working in his field of choice. But tonight was, thankfully, different as the tent door was torn open to reveal a gaunt, looming figure. The sound of its cackling made it sound near feral, which might explain the fact that they were praying on the weak instead of hunting for themselves. But as it stepped foot in the tent, Cain was standing in its way with an unsettling smile on his face. The thing cocked its head, and went to say something bold but found a syringe in its throat. An otherworldy blue liquid, the same as the vials of his personal Saint's Blood serum, were pumped into its throat and veins. In a matter of moments the thing was on the ground, seizing as its insides were burning alive from the equivalent of a mixture of napalm and Greek fire, with a blessing from a God itself. "I am afraid, Beast, that your hunting days are done. Do stop struggling, it only prolongs your demise."
Once the abomination stopped seizing and burned away into ashes, Cain calmly walked out of the tent. Confused, pained noises came from the patients, but between the heavy amounts of drugs and the time of night they half awoke to through the drugs, none of them realized the danger averted. Medical teams would arrive in the morning to find the smear of blood and Cain gone and, for all intents and purposes, the name he was operating under would be registered as KIA. Lauded as a hero or something, probably, for defending his patients in the face of some unknown threat or another. Walking out into an abandoned village, he calmly tapped a communication device on his sleeve. The signal sent, within a matter of moments a feint whistling could be heard before a massive metallic bell slammed into the ground before Cain. In the air, under active camouflage, was the Valkyrie, personal submersible and airship of his. Stepping into the bell would reveal a rather comfortable looking interior, and sitting down calmly, he opened the bottle of aged bourbon sent down as the bell was retracted in short order, vanishing as fast as it had appeared, and once secured in place Cain stepped out. A panel flickered and the image of a grizzled man, obviously having only been dragged from some watery grave with his life intact, appeared and spoke calmly. "Welcome back, Chirurg. Crew is ready for orders, and a message from one Hellsing Organization arrived for you."
Cain nodded and, bottle of bourbon in hand, retreated to his personal quarters, exchanging pleasantries with the apparent skeleton crew he had as he passed them. Each man was capable of doing the work of several times his number, however, so it was not surprising that so few ran a vessel so advanced. Retiring to his quarters, he sat at his desk and looked at the pen and paper letter, sealed with the undistinguishable seal of the Hellsing Manor, on his desk. Retrieving a scalpel, he opened the letter and reviewed its contents. Apparently, Sir Integra was forming some band or another and needed his aid in ferrying them around, amongst other collateral duties. Now, it did not say it in such plain words but, as Cain sighed and stood, he recalled that the Organization that she ran was opposed to the Beasts that hunted Man. Even if they employed one themselves. But he got on the general circuit for the ship, speaking plainly and with a jovial tone in his voice. "All Hands, now hear this. Set course for London, time to pay the dear old Hellsing Organization a visit!"
Present Day
The Valkyrie was hovering over the Hellsing Manor, observing the arrival of other members that Sir Integra had apparently called upon. Cain was on the bridge, his two AI and helmsman also observing the video feeds. The submarine was in active camo and made no noise, so there was no indications or hints to them being there. His two AI, ISHMAEL and ABEL, were both present as well as Cain set the bottle down and rotated his shoulders. "Take her back to the English Channel once I'm ashore, gents, I'll give word when we need a pick up. Much obliged, all that fine English bollocks." His helmsman, an Irishman, got a snort of amusement out of that as Cain turned and made his way for the diving bay. The Diving Bell, sleek and ready to deploy, opened smoothly as Cain approached and entered. Once strapped in, a safe landing point was picked that would not crush any of the unfortunates below. With a shudder the bell dropped, whistling increasingly loudly as it approached the ground. That was the only warning they would get before a resounding thud was heard and the bell, but not the rest of the ship, decloaked. The door swung open and the mad scientist stepped out, the bell swinging shut behind him and recalling up into nothing. Arms linked behind his back, he gave the assembled group a broad grin, Sir Walter included, and spoke freely to the bunch. "Before anyone says I am late, I am not. I arrived precisely when I intended to. Good evening, Walter, how's the butler life treating you?"
