∫ 13 [Video]
[The device clatters to the desk and switches on just in time to hear Integra's muffled swearing as the thing zaps her. The video sweeps as she picks it up and turns it over; she's in her Marshall apartment and Alucard's coffin is still parked in her living room.
The Hellsing lays the device flat on the desk and lights a cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she props her elbows on the surface.]
...three months. Three bloody months.
[A long sigh.]
Doesn't seem so, does it.
[She flicks the device with a finger, making it skitter a bit, then snorts and takes another drag on her cigar.]
And we're no closer to leaving then we were when we first arrived. Indeed, more are being brought here every damned day.
What are they looking for, I wonder? Do they even know? Or are we just minions selected at random, puppets in some sick play for the amusement of whatever deities created this place? Hnn, a quandary.
[She falls silent for a few moments, thinking quietly to herself before resuming her soft monologue.]
Some have become complacent here. That worries me. For if we are to acclimate, to adjust, what hope can there be to return? For we accept the new order, the new way of things, which could blind us to what was, where we originated, our home.
There are even laws, rules, and an attempt at order. [A dry snort.] This place was not made for order. It is a land of chaos, a fragmented section of Midian. A wasteland, sucked from some sick thought of a mad god.
And we are its resident prisoners.
[She falls silent again, cold blue eyes staring straight ahead at the far wall. But the marble returns to her countenance and she takes a slow breath before shoving the damned device away and her voice returns to its brisk authoritative timbre.]
Wake up, Alucard! We've chores to be done.
[Seeing the recording light on the device, Integra irritably flicks it off.]
The Hellsing lays the device flat on the desk and lights a cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she props her elbows on the surface.]
...three months. Three bloody months.
[A long sigh.]
Doesn't seem so, does it.
[She flicks the device with a finger, making it skitter a bit, then snorts and takes another drag on her cigar.]
And we're no closer to leaving then we were when we first arrived. Indeed, more are being brought here every damned day.
What are they looking for, I wonder? Do they even know? Or are we just minions selected at random, puppets in some sick play for the amusement of whatever deities created this place? Hnn, a quandary.
[She falls silent for a few moments, thinking quietly to herself before resuming her soft monologue.]
Some have become complacent here. That worries me. For if we are to acclimate, to adjust, what hope can there be to return? For we accept the new order, the new way of things, which could blind us to what was, where we originated, our home.
There are even laws, rules, and an attempt at order. [A dry snort.] This place was not made for order. It is a land of chaos, a fragmented section of Midian. A wasteland, sucked from some sick thought of a mad god.
And we are its resident prisoners.
[She falls silent again, cold blue eyes staring straight ahead at the far wall. But the marble returns to her countenance and she takes a slow breath before shoving the damned device away and her voice returns to its brisk authoritative timbre.]
Wake up, Alucard! We've chores to be done.
[Seeing the recording light on the device, Integra irritably flicks it off.]