Forgotten, 1944. .˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.
It was always nights like this.
Nights that leave Walter thinking a little more than he should.
He’s always had a terrible habit of getting stuck in his own head, thinking too much about things that are out of his control.
The outside air was cold, the breeze blowing enough to chap skin and numb fingertips.
The leaves from the past season’s foliage had fallen onto the ground, coating the manor’s courtyard in a crunchy orange blanket.
A waft of cigarette smoke drifted through the window as Walter leaned against the windowsill, his icy grey eyes tracing the outside scenery.
The scent of the smoke filled the sitting room as the draft from the window blew some of the smoke back inside, combining with the warm scent of beeswax from his freshly polished pistol lying nearby.
He had already tuned out the sound of the gramophone spinning his favorite record in the background, consumed by his own thoughts.
That irritating, grating voice.
Walter scoffs, his fingers pulling the cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out on the well-used ashtray on the windowsill.
He responds curtly as he blows a plume of smoke out the window, turning his attention to the source of his irritation.
Walter doesn’t like being interrupted when he’s so deep in thought. It feels like he’s in the middle of something important, though he knows he isn’t. Still, it’s really annoying.
Standing by the velvet tasseled loveseat by the fireplace is a familiar face, one that belongs to the Hellsing trump card, Alucard.
He stands as still as a Grecian statue, having seemingly materialized out of nowhere. He looms just a few feet away from Walter, an unsettling but familiar grin plastered on his ghostly white features.
The vampire narrows his eyes ever so slightly before responding, his voice refined and calm, but laced with condescension. It reminds Walter of whiskey; smooth in essence, but burning on the way down.
“Do you think a monster is born or created?”
Walter blinks. The question feels out of place. Unexpected. Though, then again, everything in this organization does. Walter takes a moment to think before giving his answer, glancing over his shoulder at him.
“Created, maybe. Evil is a learned behavior.”
Alucard lets out a dark chuckle at his answer, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“I’m not in the mood for this.”
Alucard doesn’t respond to his dismissal, slowly approaching behind the butler with his gloved hands clasped behind his back like a lecturer inspecting a student’s work.
“You’ve been trained to believe monsters make themselves,” he says, his voice calculating.
“It’s much easier to kill something you believe chose to be damned.”
Walter’s grip tightens on the windowsill, vexation dripping into his tone.
“If something kills innocent people, I don’t care how it came to exist.”
Alucard stops behind him.
“Ah,” the vampire murmurs. “So the sin erases the story.”
Walter rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts.
For the first time, Alucard’s smile thins.
“Then by that logic,” he says quietly, “you are simply another executioner in training.”
Walter’s pulse stutters beneath his pale skin. He whips around to face him, speaking through gritted teeth, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I am not. I don’t enjoy killing,” he snaps, taking a small, shaky breath in a failed attempt at saving face before continuing.
Alucard’s red eyes flick down to his wrist—right where his hidden wires rest. The wires he knows have taken the lives of countless undead creatures of the night.
“Enjoyment is irrelevant,” he replies.
“Action is what defines the monster.”
Walter swallows. “So what does that make you?”
Alucard leans down just enough that his shadow swallows Walter’s; close enough for him to smell the iron and corpse rot on his breath.
“More complex than your definition,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice.
“And far beyond your own comprehension.”
Walter stands his ground anyway, like a kitten raising its hackles and hissing at a mountain lion.
“If monsters are born into this world, as you’re implying,” he says, “then they can be taken out of it.”
“Careful. That’s the kind of thinking that gets little butlers promoted to martyrs,” Alucard murmurs, his grin returning in full force like a right hook to the face.
Walter can’t help but freeze in place for a moment. He knows full well of the vampire’s capabilities, having seen them firsthand. It terrifies him beyond words.
Still, despite being a butler, he is a soldier too. A soldier cannot falter, even when faced with something out of his caliber.
“You forget that I’m not the one the Hellsing organization keeps on a leash.”
Alucard doesn’t seem to like that too much. Walter can see his eyes narrow ever so slightly in response.
“And you forget, little one,” he says, “you can be replaced at the drop of a hat.”
His grin widens almost impossibly, a chilling look in his eyes that Walter can’t put a name to.
“You are a child playing with an extinction button. The heat of battle has barely marred your skin. Once you’ve been bested on the battlefield and meet your maker, they’ll have your job position posted by morning.”
Alucard leans even closer, chills running down Walter’s spine.
“You’ll be an afterthought. Forgotten and left to rot, buried under a rock. The dead are nothing but trash.”
Walter wears the look of a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. It feels like he’s been hit by one, too. But before he can move his lips to respond, Alucard vanishes in the blink of an eye.
He stands in silence for what feels like an eternity, staring blankly at the wall. Deep within his gut, a pit of despair and rage fills him, his teeth clenching. He runs a hand through his shaggy black hair, pulling another cigarette from his pack.
That is the reality of being a soldier. Not just for Hellsing, but in general. You pay your respects, and then you move on. You’re forgotten. Eventually, Walter knows that will be his fate.
And that terrifies him more than Alucard.
