The Players : Father Alexander Anderson. (Closed)
Where : Somewhere on the road in the United States
When : The week of January 19-23, 2009. (Not long after Peter's post.)
Rating : PG13/R (for violence).
Notes : Anderson is from the anime Hellsing where he is a special agent of the Vatican.
Father Anderson breathed a sigh of disgust at the sight of another garishly decorated church. In the darkness of the night he couldn't detect what religion this one was dedicated to.
It was bad enough when the Holy Father, through his divine agency of Section 13: Iscariot, saw fit to send him to the heathen lands of England but this was almost more than he could take. The United States of America? At least in England all he had to deal with were the accursed Protestants but this country was filled with everything from blessed Catholics to Neo-Christians, a goodly people on the right course but not dedicated or disciplined enough for Catholicism, to the fore mentioned Protestants, a blight in God’s eyes. Those religions were at least understandable to him, even if he hated the Protestants, but Methodist? Buddhism? They even had dedicated and recognized churches to Satan in this country!
“Aye, tis a sin that the Holy Father can’t just order a Crusade and purge this country of all the foul and ridiculous religions that fester and multiply here and replace it with the one true faith.” The man mutter to himself, gaining a few strange stares from some of the people sharing the bus with him.
"Not as if I care what were probably more heathens think of me." He thought sourly to himself
Billy Tyson watched the man sitting across from him on the Greyhound bus. Billy was an ex-gang banger from the East Side as they say. Meaning he was your normal young 17 year old, that had grown up in a bad section of New York and had a few brushes with gangs. Billy had never dealt with drugs or drive bys or any of the other things gang members were often accused of, and even more often were actually guilty of. No Billy had managed to lead a fairly clean and lawful life even though all of his friends were deep in the gang scene. Billy’s mother decided it was only a matter of time before he was lead into crime by his ne’re do well friends so she took it upon herself to send him off to relatives on the west coast in the hopes he would have a better life there.
Billy of course hated the idea but he was still a good enough son not to argue with his mother and grudgingly had gotten on the bus when she had bought him a ticket.
Billy was sure that traveling cross country on a bus was Hell on Earth and sought any distraction he could find to keep from going insane. In the crowded confines of the bus, without asking questions of his own, he was able to quickly learn most of the stories of the people riding with him by just listening, everyone except the ‘mystery man’.
The man kept to himself the entire trip and spoke to no one but Billy could hear him occasionally muttering to himself, usually when they would pass a church or a cemetery. Billy quickly decided the man must be a foreigner by the thick accent the man spoke with. After debating with himself for a time Billy decided it was a Scottish accent, that or maybe Irish? Billy wasn’t really that much of an expert when it came to dialects outside of the Bronx.
The mystery man was kind of ominous looking with his wild staring eyes behind round glasses and the long dark trench coat he was wearing. Billy wasn’t sure but at one of the many rest stops the bus made, he could swear he saw a glint of metal under the jacket as the strange man got off and on the bus.
Not like the bulge or the type of glimpse one would get of a gun. Billy was well familiar from his gang friends what that looked like but no this looked almost like… A sword or big knife? And what was up with that strange collar the man wore it almost looked like…
“Are you a priest?” A fat woman that Billy had learned from listening in to her conversations with other passengers was traveling to visit her daughter who never wrote or called her any more. The woman had decided on a whim to travel half way across the country to drop in on this daughter for a visit and Billy thought to himself if the daughter was smart, she would hide in her house and refuse to answer the door when her mother arrived to see her. The woman was loud and annoying.
The fat woman plopped down heavily in the chair next to the ‘mystery man’ and peered at him rather rudely.
“Aye.” Anderson replied curtly and hoped the woman would take the hint and move away. Most of the other passengers had instinctively avoided sitting next to him, a fact the dour priest had thanked God for as he was in no mood to speak with any of them.
The fat woman looked confused for a moment before she realized the man was saying yes not ‘I’.
Anderson instantly bristled as the woman asked if he was Protestant or Catholic but managed to reply civilly. “Catholic.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice?” The woman replied inanely. “I raised our daughter as Catholic but I believe she’s switched to one of those newer more hip religions on the west coast. Sad isn’t it?”
“Usually when someone strays from the true path later in life it is because they were not disciplined or taught better by their parents.” Anderson observed not bothering to look at the woman sitting next to him.
“Well I never!” The woman replied indignantly and moved away from me, which was what the dour man was praying for in the first place.
Father Anderson tried to return to his contemplation of the darkness outside of the bus but noticed they were pulling into another of the filthy bus stations that lined their course and with a barely concealed scowl remembered that they would have to transfer to another bus with a fresh bus driver for the next leg of this journey. Hopefully this bus driver could hold a straight line on the road unlike the current one we had.
As the bus doors opened, Anderson was one of the first to disembark from the bus and start his way over to the station’s doors. He paused, as something seemed not quite right. There were several buses waiting next to where theirs had parked but that was natural. The garish light over the doors was buzzing and blinking slightly but that too was not unusual. It was his experience that the awful fluorescent lights favored in this country did that a lot. Then it hit him, the dead silence only broken by the slight buzzing of the lights. True it was fairly late at night but surely there would be someone who would be joining their next bus out. The place was far too quiet.
As their bus driver pushed past him and the automated doors swished opened to allow him entry to the station, a smell swept out and hit Father Anderson's nose. A smell he knew all too well, the smell of blood.
Anderson could hear the startled gasp of the bus driver and immediately a wet splat noise before he dove through the doors after him, his hands already seeking the blessed holy blades that he carried inside his jacket.
The scene that met the Father's eyes as he entered the station was one out of Hell itself. There were bits and pieces of dead bodies everywhere. The station hadn’t been full when the fiends had attacked but what few people had been there had been ripped literally to pieces and their blood splashed everywhere. His eyes glanced down at the blood coated floor of the station and he noticed almost idly that their bus driver’s body was lying there with his ripped off head resting a few feet from it.
Good. This meant whatever had done this atrocity was still here. Looking over as Anderson heard the doors swish open and saw that the teen boy who had been staring at him for most of my trip was standing there.
“Keep the others out boy. I shall deal with whatever Hell spawn has done this.” He shouted to the boy.
Nodding and looking like he was either about to throw up or pass out, the boy turned and blocked the others from coming in. Anderson could hear the loud and obnoxious woman who had just recently sat beside him trying to bully her way in, not having see the obvious signs of gore past the doors yet.
Hearing the faintest of whispers Anderson spun quickly and brought two of his blessed blades before him in a cross configuration stopping a growling vampire from taking his head off. Throwing him backwards, Anderson quickly pulled more of his blades and threw them faster than the eye could see, pining the vampire to a wall of the bus station.
Anderson watched in disgust as the feeble vermin pawed at the sizzling blessed silver blades as they burned and purified his tainted essence. The Hell spawn growled and cursed as his hand burned as he tried to pull the blades from his body. The creature then began to laugh. “You think you have won? We are legion and we own the night and the darkness!” It shouted at the Vatican agent.
“Nay.” Anderson replied as he moved towards him pulling yet another blade from his jacket. “No matter how deep the dark nor long the night, God’s light will always shine and destroy wee filth like ye.” He growled as he decapitated the vampire’s head with one swipe, Anderson watched as the body turned to ash, falling away from his blades stuck to the wall.
“Is this what passes for true vampires in this country…” Father Anderson stated to himself as he pulled his blades from the wall. “Alucard would laugh himself hoarse and the Vatican has nothing to fear.”
Hearing a sliding noise on the window of the bus station Anderson turned, fully expecting to see the horrified fools he had ridden with in the bus staring in but noticed only one at the window. The boy he had told to keep everyone out to protect them. The boy was pressed against the window with his head crooked at a bad angle as a female vampire fed from him.
“God damn it.” Anderson cried, mentally making a note to seek absolution for taking the Lord’s name in vain later.
Rushing outside the Father found the outside now resembled the inside with blood everywhere, the fluorescent light above the door now a lurid red as the vital fluid dripped from it.
The young man he had told to guard the entrance was hanging limply from the hold of a sleazy looking blond female vampire wearing miniskirt and a halter top.
“He’s kind of cute and it would appear I lost my man. I think I shall turn him and keep him.” The vampire hissed over the boy’s shoulder at Anderson. The boy’s eyes staring at the father begging him to do something, he was so weak he could not even form words. Not that the words would make it past his horribly slashed throat anyway.
“Nay, you won’t.” Anderson said calmly to the female vampire.
“Oh and why is that?” She asked him.
“Cause you are already destroyed.” Anderson replied as he raised his arm and threw one of his blades without even concentrating. The blade flew through the air as straight as God’s judgment, pierced the boy’s throat, and continued onward to pierce the female vampire’s black heart. She only had a moment to throw back her head in a silent scream before turning to ashes. The boy’s body fell to the ground, Anderson's blade still stuck through his throat nearly finishing the job the female vampire had started and cutting his head off completely.
Bending, Father Anderson made the sign of the cross over the dead boy’s body and sought his and the Lord’s forgiveness for allowing himself to be distracted by the male vampire inside and allowing time for the female outside to massacre his fellow travelers.
Getting up from the poor man’s body, Anderson turned and surveyed the parking lot of the bust station with both his eyes and his hearing. Nothing was moving and all that had ridden on the bus with him were now dead. Cleaning his blades before returning them to his jacket he examined the dead once more to make sure they would not rise as ghouls. For some reason unknown to the Vatican, the American vampires didn’t create ghouls from their victims as the chipped mock vampires in Europe did. One of the reasons he had been sent was to find out if the vampires here were a new breed of chipped vampires or ‘true bloods’.
“Now how will I get to my destination? I donna know how to drive. So inconvenient.” Father Alexander Anderson muttered to himself as he turned and started to walk away.
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