I haven't written any real fan fiction in over a year. I've been wanting to get back into it as of late, and this is one of the first ideas I came up with. I hope you all enjoy it. It may get a bit crazy at times, but that's alright. I've written crazier things, and people loved them like nobodies' business. Heh heh...

At any rate, this story is a mixture of Hellsing and some Warhammer 40,000 stuff, which is known for being very over-the-top when it comes to violence and grimdark. If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to drop a review. I'll do my best to answer questions and explain anything that doesn't make sense.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing or Warhammer 40,000.

(But I wish I did...)

Alucard was stalking the halls of the Hellsing manor, as was his usual habit when he had nothing better to do. Without a mission to keep him busy, Seras busy training some new recruits, and with Integra and Walter stuck in a meeting, he had nothing to entertain himself with. That was until he entered one of the break rooms, and saw a pair of Wild Geese mercenaries chatting away at a table. They had a stack of small books on the table, and were apparently discussing the contents of them between each other. "So then he takes the chainsword, and cuts the demons head off!" the bearded one swung his hand in a slashing motion.

"Seriously? Dude, I gotta read that one. I'm still workin' on Gaunt's Ghosts..." the bald mercenary beside him gestured at the large book beside him.

"Heh. I loved Gaunt's Ghosts. Don't you ever just wish you had a bolt pistol?" the bearded man grinned.

"Oh yeah! I bet even Alucard wishes he had one!" the other dog of war exclaimed with a smirk.

"Wish I had one what?" Alucard suddenly asked, making his presence known.

Both men visibly paled. They quickly turned to look at him, surprise and fear evident in their faces. The bearded mercenary gulped nervously, his red hair sharply contrasting with his suddenly parchment-white skin. "A b-bolt pistol, s-sir..." he stammered.

"A bolt pistol? Why would I want a gun that fires pieces of construction hardware?" the vampire frowned.

The bald man coughed, trying to clear his throat and steady his voice. "Its not a typical bolt, sir. Its a gun from a book setting, called Warhammer 40,000. Bolt pistols fire these huge bullets, called Bolts, that are basically small rocket-propelled grenades. Armor-piercing, high-explosive, self-propelled projectiles... About 75 caliber, I think."

Alucard was listening at this point. As silly as it was, a gun this powerful was worthy of his attention, fictional or not. "And you say this is a pistol?"

"Yessir," the bearded merc nodded. "Its standard issue for some guys in the Imperium of Man. Heck, the Space Marines get machine guns that fire 'em automatically, called bolters! Pretty cool... ahem... if I do say so myself..." the man muttered nervously, not wanting to irritate the No Life King.

Alucard was quite interested now. "Tell me more about these bolt pistols, and... Space Marines..." he arches an eyebrow at the oddity of a marine in space.

The bald mercenary grabbed a small book from the table, and held it out. The cover showed several men in bulky yellow armor charging across a desert, huge guns glazing away. "Here. Its called Heroes of the Space Marines. Maybe you'll like it?" he shrugs cautiously.

Alucard took the book, and studied the cover for a few seconds. "Interesting. You humans come up with such strange concepts. I suppose I'll give it a look."

And with that, he disappeared into a swirling torrent of darkness. Dead silence was left in his wake, the two men not sure of what to say or do. Finally, the bearded man spoke up. "You gave him my book, jerk."

. . .

A few hours later, Integra finally finished her meeting. With a splitting headache and a growling stomach, she wasn't in much of a mood to deal with anything trivial at that point. Unfortunately, something trivial was waiting in her office. Within moments of entering the room, she could already sense Alucard's presence. Almost as soon as she took a seat at her desk, her vampire servant morphed out of the shadows of the ceiling and planted himself firmly in front of her desk. "What is it, vampire?" Integra asked, hoping vainly that it was something important. As soon as he produced a set of blueprints from his jacket, she knew it wasn't.

"I need a new gun," Alucard stated firmly, his expression one of intent determination. If Integra had been smoking a cigarre at that point - she was just about to look for one - she likely would have swallowed it in shock. The vampire proceeded to unfurl the blueprints across her desk, and continued to speak. "A newer, better gun."

"What?" Integra finally recovered her senses. "Why do you need a new gun when you have two that already work bloody fine well?" she snarled in frustration. "We don't have the time or resources to research and develop-"

"Its a .75 handgun that fires self-propelled armor-piercing high-explosive projectiles, called Bolts," Alucard explained matter-o-factly. "It originated from Warhammer 40,000, and it has been known to completely evacuate the brain cavity of even the most rugged Ork."

Integra stared at him incredulously. "What?" she finally asked after several seconds of trying to process the words he'd produced from his mouth.

"Yes," Alucard nodded at the blueprints, "I was also astounded when I was first told about it. It is the perfect weapon, and I have already created the schematics and technical information needed for production." Integra continued to stare. "I need this weapon. I must have this weapon."

With a deep sigh, Integra cradled her forehead in the palm of her hand. "You're serious? You honestly think we can produce something like this?"

"Throw enough money at a problem, and eventually it goes away. Isn't that a standard human philosophy?" Alucard arched an eyebrow. "And have you personally seen some of the weapons R&D has come up with for the Police Girl? What the devil was that thing they unloaded from that truck last week? Two drum fed anti-aircraft guns? Why can she have something like that, and I can't have a pistol?"

"Because this isn't a pistol!" Integra slammed her fists down on the blueprints in front of her. "Its a bloody figment of people's imagination!"

"Just like vampires?" Alucard smirked.

Integra stared at him, before releasing another deep sigh. "There's no arguing with you. Just... just go away. I'll talk to Walter about it..."

"Excellent..." Alucard crooned, sinking down through the floor. "You won't regret this, my Master..."

"You're right, I won't..." Integra muttered once he'd left. "Once this is over, I'll simply drink until I don't remember what it is I regret."

. . .

"ALRIGHT, DAEMON!" Alexander Anderson bellowed, drawing a pair of machete-like blades as he raced down the blood-splattered hallway of a hospital. "YER JUDGEMENT IS AT HAND! PREPARE TA FACE-"

Two thunderclaps echoed out, their roar strong enough to shatter any window unfortunate enough to be near the source. Anderson was interrupted by the resounding blasts, and almost instantly both of his legs exploded. In a haze of blood and bone, everything from his kneecap to his ankles was vaporized, and the angry priest suddenly found himself flailing wildly through the air. "WHA' ON GOD'S HOLY EARTH WAS THA'?" the Paladin screamed out in horror and agony, trying to figure out why he was suddenly on the floor. The tattered stumps of his legs fountained crimson, and the walls around him were speckled with bits of the priest's shins. Whatever had hit him, it had done so with the might of an angry god.

"That would be a bolt pistol..." Alucard grinned, holding up the nominative weapon in his right hand. Smoke rising from its barrel, the gun was freakishly huge, even when compared to his traditional weapons. Large, black, and bulky, the magazine was mounted towards the front of the gun, rather than inside of the grip. The weapon was decorated with a variety of golden engravings, including a two-headed eagle on the slide and a rather menacing skull on the grip. And it still held almost a full clip of ammunition.

"A wut?" Anderson arched a confused eyebrow.

There was another sound of thunder. The priest cartwheeled further down the hall, his right arm spiralling idly through the air. "A bolt pistol," Alucard repeated himself. He pulled the trigger again, and the gun barely recoiled as it fired, courtesy of the self-propelled nature of its bullets. Anderson screamed as his left arm flew out a nearby window. "And I brought plenty of ammo..."

Poor Anderson. Don't worry, he got better...

Well, I hope you enjoyed this dose of zany humor. I'm plotting a possible second chapter, as a 40K arms race between Alucard and Anderson is an opportunity I'm hesitant to pass up. Or, if everyone hates this story, I can save my time and drop the project.

So, if you have questions, want to read more, or think this story is a terrible idea, would you kindly drop a review and let me know? It would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

~Agent HUNK~