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Integra ducks behind the wall, her chest heaving. She can feel her heart pounding behind her breastbone, pumping oxygenated blood to her extremities, which burn with exertion. She takes a second to catch her breath, waiting until the gun in her hands no longer shakes with the minute jitters of her trembling fingers before sticking her head back out around the brick wall.
The sun-soaked field is littered with bodies, and even from her position far from the carnage she can see that the majority of the casualties are painted with red, their armor stripped with vermilion.
Integra tugs her head back behind the wall of the Hellsing mansion and makes a decision. It’s time for her trump card.
“Alucard,” she calls, her voice barely a whisper so as to not be heard by the enemy, “I need you.”
The shadows beside her blink, and if she were any normal thirteen-year-old girl, she would have screamed. But Sir Integra Hellsing is not a normal thirteen-year-old girl, and is unfazed by Alucard, the no-life king, materializing out of the darkness directly next to her.
The vampire yawns and stretches his arms above his head, which Integra slaps to get him to put them down. “What is it, little master?”
“We are at war. I need your help.”
Alucard looks down at Integra with one eyebrow raised. “Master, you know that I’m not supposed to help you in this.”
“Those were orders given to you by someone other than me, therefore what I ask of you trumps it. Now, help me .”
For a second Integra thinks that Alucard isn’t going to help, that he’s going to betray her and leave her to fend for herself surrounded by enemies. Then he smiles like a feral dog and she knows she’s got him.
“Very well. There are five enemy combatants directly downhill from your position. A pair of snipers are over there,” the vampire points to a raised platform on the right side of the field, “and another just there.” He gestures again discreetly to a platform on the other side of the field, this one higher up but smaller. “And there are two coming around the back of the house just now.”
Integra turns to look directly at Alucard, her eyes wide. “Why would you not lead with that?!” Her voice is a low hiss, incredulous, and it makes the vampire grin.
“I can’t give everything to you on a silver platter, now can I?” And with that, the vampire phases through the wall, leaving the young knight to fend off two attackers on her own.
Cursing Alucard out under her breath, Integra checks the paintball gun in her hands. There’s plenty of ammunition left in the chamber, the paint-filled pellets stark blue against the black of the gun, so she readjusts her grip on the handles and flattens herself against the wall, turning her attention to the new threat.
A tall man in red-accented tactical gear rounds the corner and, luckily for Integra, he doesn’t notice her right away. She manages to get a shot directly to his chest, the small ball exploding into a veritable cloud of blue paint, and he falls dramatically to the ground, throwing his limbs out and making a very exaggerated oomph sound.
She scoffs at the dramatics, but once he’s on the ground, Integra gets a better look at his face and recognizes Flint Douglas. Internally, Integra preens at having caught one of the Hellsing organization’s special operatives by surprise, but she keeps her face from showing her pride.
Integra’s not so lucky the second time, as the other soldier saw her companion fall, but the young girl manages to drop low and avoid the spray of red paint-filled pellets that slam into the wall behind her. As she ducks, Integra pulls the trigger, catching the woman in the arm with the first shot, and then in the stomach with the second. Like Flint, she too dramatically falls to the ground, even going as far as to throw the back of her hand against her forehead as she does so.
Flint is laughing quietly at this point, and when Integra looks at him, he raises a thumbs up to her. “Nice shooting, sir!”
“Thank you,” Integra mumbles curtly, before checking behind her, and running off around the building in the opposite direction that the soldiers had come from.
The field behind the Hellsing mansion has some wooden obstacles erected in it but remains largely open. Integra watches as two of her teammates—identifiable by the blue tape stuck in stripes on the shoulders of their tactical gear—sneak below the raised platform on her right and ambush the snipers above, but also getting hit in the process. That leaves only one enemy left.
Integra crosses the field as quietly as she can, ducking behind obstacles and running low to the ground. The grass beneath her rain boots is slick with paint, but she keeps her footing. She reaches the box unnoticed and goes around the back to where the platform is open, and the figure inside is unguarded. She presses the butt of the air gun into the meat of her shoulder, stabilizing it as best she can, and lines up the shot. She breathes out and pulls the trigger.
The guard in the box rocks forward as he’s splattered across the back with blue paint, letting out a noise of surprise. He spins around, taking in the sight of his young boss, before laughing and lying down his weapon.
“Nice work, sir!”
Integra, like before, looks at the ground and smiles. It had taken a lot of coercion to talk her into joining this round of the Hellsing Organization’s trimonthly paintball training game. Still, she’s finding it more enjoyable than she had initially expected. In fact, she—
Integra stumbles to the side, shocked out of her thoughts by the sensation of a small, red pellet slamming into her shoulder. She wheels on her heels, snapping her attention to the shooter.
Walter, head of the Hellsing mansion’s staff, stands there calmly, his paintball gun lowered, and his lips pursed in a nonchalant whistle. His eyes drift pointedly toward the treeline behind her, as though he had nothing to do with the fact that she is now splattered in red paint on one side.
“Walter,” Integra demands. “How dare you?!”
Walter, utterly unbothered, raises a single eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“You shot me!” she accuses, gesturing indignantly to the smear of red paint staining her sleeve.
“Hmm.” Walter inspects his weapon, his expression one of mild amusement. “So it seems I did.”
Integra scowls, her fists clenching at her sides. “Traitorous behavior from my own staff,” she mutters, her voice dripping with mock dismay. “Unbelievable.”
Walter’s lips twitch, though he fights to keep his face composed. “It is my duty to prepare you for anything, my lady. Even unexpected treachery. Consider it…a lesson in vigilance.”
“I’ll show you vigilance,” Integra hisses under her breath, raising her gun.
Walter steps back, holding up his free hand as if to placate her. “Now, now. Surely we can agree I was acting in your best—”
Integra pulls the trigger. A burst of blue paint splatters across Walter’s chest, interrupting his protest mid-sentence.
Walter looks down at the vivid smear, his mouth twitching into what might have been a smile—if he weren’t so practiced at keeping a straight face. “Touché, my lady,” he says with a small bow.
“Damn right,” Integra says, lowering her gun.
From somewhere nearby, a familiar voice cuts through the air, dripping with amusement. “Very well handled, Master.”
Alucard materializes from the shadows, leaning lazily against a tree trunk. His crimson eyes glint with mischief. “Though I must say, I rather enjoyed watching Walter best you for a moment.”
Integra rounds on the vampire, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Care to repeat that, servant?”
“Me?” Alucard places a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Walter clears his throat, straightening his vest as if nothing had happened. “Shall I prepare some tea, my lady? A victorious warrior deserves refreshment, after all.”
Integra lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair out of her face. “Tea. And a sandwich, please. I’ve earned it.”
“As you wish,” Walter replies with a bow, his paint-splattered vest now a badge of her triumph.
Alucard chuckles as Integra strides back toward the mansion, head held high despite the streak of red paint on her shoulder. “You know,” he muses, falling into step beside her, “for someone so young, you do have a talent for commanding respect. Even if it’s… earned the hard way.”
Integra doesn’t bother looking at him, her tone imperious as ever. “That’s what makes me a Hellsing. Now stop wasting time and get back to work.”
“Yes, master,” Alucard says, his grin widening.
Ahead of them, from inside the manor, Walter watches them through a window with a knowing smile. The paintball game might be over, but it’s clear the real game never stops in the Hellsing household.