The alarm was still blaring. Red light pulsed through the corridor, and the sound that sliced through the air and kept on ringing shook the entire mansion. The parlor door burst open. [cold] Three of them in the corridor. They're spreading out. Alucard cradled a plate of *nikuman* in his left hand. Five white lumps, still trailing steam. In his right, one half-eaten. His crimson eyes were fixed, unwavering, on the darkness at the far end of the corridor. [serious] They came in through the garden. Iscariot extremists. Anderson stood beside him. The massive frame in white robes blocked the corridor's red light, casting his shadow over Alucard. He held a tin of cookies in his left hand, while his right crept toward the inside of his suit—toward the bundle of bayonets. But he didn't draw them yet. [cold] No weapons. [serious] Aye. If we use them, the trap is complete. War breaks out between the Hellsing Organization and Iscariot. Both of them looked down the corridor at the same time. Men in black. The thirty pieces of silver gleamed on their chests. Guns in their hands. The Hellsing mansion's corridor was long, roughly three meters wide. Paintings hung on the walls, and the polished floor reflected the red of the emergency lights. Far too narrow for a firefight. Alucard took a bite of his *nikuman*. Chewing slowly, he signaled Anderson with his eyes alone. (*Yeah, I know.*) Anderson readjusted his grip on the cookie tin, holding it against his chest. No weapons. That was the agreement—reached without a single word exchanged between the five-hundred-year-old vampire and the regenerator priest. —That was when it happened. [angry] Wait, Master Alucard! Seras Victoria burst out of the parlor. Her blonde hair was disheveled, desperation swimming in her crimson eyes. Still clutching a kitchen hairband in her left hand, she tried to run toward the other end of the corridor—toward the stairs leading to the armory. [scared] I'll get the Harkonnen! I'll— A hand gently settled on her shoulder. [gentle] Seras, my dear, that's a trap. Before anyone knew it, he was standing there. The old butler, his white hair slicked back, his spine perfectly straight. Even bathed in the alarm's red light, his brown eyes were utterly unshaken. In his hand, a single cup of black tea. Still steaming. [gentle] They're waiting for you to use a weapon. You are a combatant of the Hellsing Organization, after all. B-but! Master Alucard and Father Anderson are all alone— [gentle] It's quite all right. I'll monitor the situation from the basement security feed and keep the tea warm. You will wait here. Walter's hand, quietly but with an irresistible firmness, guided Seras to the corner of the corridor. The shadow of the wall. A sniper's basic position. Even unarmed, her instincts as a former police officer understood that spot instinctively. [sad] ...Understood. She bit her lip in frustration. Walter gave a small nod and silently descended the stairs to the basement. His footsteps made no sound at all. Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Three of them. Alucard and Anderson locked eyes. And then—they moved simultaneously. Alucard ran. His long black hair stood on end, defying gravity, and his crimson eyes split vertically with a sharp gleam. The hem of his coat fluttered, and behind him, shadows like countless eyes rose up. Yet, what he held in his hands were *nikuman*. The lead extremist raised his gun. Alucard didn't stop. The man's finger touched the trigger—and in that instant, Alucard hurled the *nikuman* he was holding. *Splat.* The white object detonated against the extremist's face. Scalding hot meat juice flooded his eyes, robbing him of his sight. "Gwah!?" The gun barrel veered off course. In that opening, Alucard kicked the man's wrist upward. The silver handgun clattered to the floor. Without pausing, Alucard slammed another *nikuman* into the man's gut and pinned him against the wall. But—the man was still moving. You monster! The man tried to draw a second gun. Alucard couldn't move. If a shot rang out, the trap would be complete. That was when— *Thwump.* A cookie struck the man in the back of the head. [gentle] In God's holy name— Anderson, pinning another extremist against the opposite wall, had thrown a cookie with his left hand. The baked scent of butter and flour mingled with the smell of blood. [gentle] —these were baked with God's love. Receive them gratefully. Anderson didn't use his bayonets. Instead, he battered the man's arm with the cookie tin, forcing him to drop his gun. The bottom of the tin deformed, and the sound of cookies shattering inside could be heard. From the corner of the corridor, Seras watched the scene in stunned disbelief. (*Why are the two of them so perfectly in sync!?*) She screamed inside her head. (*What do you mean, their weapons are* nikuman *and cookies!? This is a genuinely serious situation right now, isn't it!?*) But she couldn't laugh. The situation was, without a doubt, closing in on them. While Alucard and Anderson grappled with the two extremists in the corridor—the third set of footsteps had stopped. [cold] —Don't move, vampire. A low voice echoed from deep within the corridor. Alucard's hands stopped. The extremist leader had seized Seras by the arm. The corner where she'd been hiding—the man had emerged from her blind spot. Seras— [scared] Master Alucard, don't move! The trap— A gun barrel was pressed against her temple. Right above the old gunshot wound on her left temple, a scar from her days as a police officer. [cold] If you use a weapon, that's fine. War between Iscariot and Hellsing begins. Our plan is achieved. The man's voice was calm. His gray eyes held no light of fanaticism. Only the cold calculation required to carry out a mission resided there. [cold] If you don't, this girl dies. Which do you choose? Alucard didn't move. Five hundred years. He had slaughtered humans, monsters, countless enemies. And yet—he couldn't move a single finger. The strength drained from his hand. The *nikuman* he'd been holding slipped from his fingers. *Plop.* The white lump hit the floor and rolled slowly. Seras saw it. She saw Alucard's crimson eyes fixed on the fallen *nikuman*. (*Master Alucard... dropped something.*) The original vampire who had lived for five centuries. The most terrifying monster in the world. The man who laughed that he was dying of boredom, who remained utterly unflappable even when defeating his enemies—he couldn't pick up a single *nikuman*. The *nikuman* rolled across the floor, slowly making its way to Anderson's feet. Anderson saw it. He saw it. Alucard's face. It was an expression Anderson was seeing for the first time in his life. The five-hundred-year-old vampire stood frozen. Not bored. Not angry. Not even amused. Just—unable to move. (*Ah.*) Anderson understood. [gentle] ...Alucard. Slowly, he placed the cookie tin on the floor. The rim was deformed, and the sound of the cookies inside crumbling could be heard. Even so, he set it down quietly. [gentle] A Protestant vampire picking up something strange. Alucard didn't answer. [gentle] You've found something to protect, haven't you. It wasn't mockery toward an enemy. It was the pure observation of a fanatical priest. A monster who had lived five hundred years in solitude had dropped a single *nikuman*. Anderson read the meaning of that more accurately than anyone else could. Alucard's back teeth ground together audibly. Words wouldn't come. Something more important than boredom had taken root inside him. And he'd been forced to realize it at the worst possible moment. If he used a weapon, he'd fall into the trap. If he didn't, Seras was in danger. No matter which he chose, he was cornered. (*So this is—what it means to be cornered.*) For the first time in five hundred years, Alucard felt that. The *nikuman* on the floor was still rolling. No one picked it up. Anderson didn't move either. His hand didn't reach for his bayonets; it simply remained where it was, having set down the cookie tin. That, too, was his own choice. To set down his weapon and wait for Alucard's decision. Feeling the gun barrel against her temple, Seras still forced her voice out. [whispers] ...Master Alucard, please don't move... don't fall into the trap... Her crimson eyes pleaded with Alucard. (*Don't make the whole world your enemy for my sake.*) Alucard saw that. He saw it, and yet—he still couldn't move. The red light of the alarm illuminated the three of them equally. The extremist leader's finger tightened on the trigger. [cold] Time's up. Choose. Alucard doesn't move. The *nikuman* that had rolled across the floor came to a stop in the corner of the corridor. The white steam no longer rose from it.