Saint Andrew's Hospital.

Description: Saint Andrew's Hospital consists of several hundred rooms, capable of housing hundreds of patents at one time, and as such is a multi-story medical facility, located not far from the "Big Ben" clock tower in London. The hospital is built to accommodate several different types of medical needs, ranging from both mental and physical.

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A crack of thunder indicated rain to the cyborg currently in motion over the rooftops, and it didn't take long for a downpour to begin drenching the surroundings. Even though he was technically a giant lighting rod, did he stop and retreat to lower ground? No. Instead, he picked up his pace despite the unsteady footing of brick and stone cracking and dislodging from under his feet as he propelled himself forward. The hospital was in sight, a good thing too because Sister Meabh's condition was worsening by the moment. Slamming down on a roof top, the cyborg continued forward before leaping from the edge the current platform that held his frame, being a four story building across the busy street from the hospital, the cyborgs momentum from his speedy charge launched himself across the street with a strange ease. A flash of lightning stole the light from the area for only a moment as he soared across the gap, blocking the priest from the view of anyone who might of caught sight of him....though, that didn't last long.

It wasn't a bird, and it wasn't a plane, it was Iron Man, this time in a literal sense of the title as he came crashing down through the overhanging canopy that protected the front door and sidewalk from the rainy elements. However its purpose was reduced now that it had a gaping hole in it from where the cyborg came cannon-balling in. The concrete cracked as Miles landed in a crouched position, drenched from head-to-toe from the downpour with Meabh still in his arms, before he rose to his full height and made his way inside. Luckily the automatic doors opened quickly enough not to get kicked down by the worried cyborg. The thunderous impact of Father Miles destroying the front part of the hospital gained the attention of everyone in the lobby, including several people by the street. Several looked on as the cyborg made his way inside, sporting a face that looked like a moderate Harvey Dent from a batman movie with his left cheek blown off, not to mention being riddled with bullet holes and tattered clerical robes.

Miles, however, wasn't in the mood to explain nor did he have time, instead he simply outstretched his hand as best he could, keeping Meabh in the crook off his elbow, and grabbed the closest doctor he could by the shirt collar. It was at this point the medical expert noticed the woman in the strange mans arms was wounded, which quickly gathered the attention of the near by doctors and nurses - despite their confusion and fear of who or what just entered their facility. Miles gently began to hand the Sniper over to some-what frightened E.R staff, though he was reluctant at first, considering the severity of the wound it was the best course of action.

She was cold, but there was a fire blooming from her middle that set her body rigid and her hands clutching desperately for whatever they could find. There wasn't thought anymore, just sound and touch and taste, senses that were both heightened and slowly fading away. Her mind was wandering from the pain, sending her back to a time when she'd felt helpless, unable to fight back; she never felt this way about the deaths of her parents, of the massacre that ended their lives. She had been too young, too inexperienced, to be able to help in any way possible.

No, this feeling was from a night that seemed both ever so far away, and always close.

That creature, that monster, the thing they were always told to be the epitome of evil they were dedicated to purging from the earth, it had taken her. It had preyed upon her unknowing nature as to what it truly was, and when it had her, there was no escaping. She knew there was no exit for her, none among the living; she would have to rely on death for release. It felt as though it would take days, years for Death to come, but then light came, and it threw back the creature, giving her time to lash out, hit back with a feeble few shots before running.

She'd never felt that alone, that afraid.

And the Light wasn't coming now. She couldn't see it, she couldn't hear the voice that blossomed hope within her; all that existed was cold and fire, pain and darkness. The sniper couldn't open her eyes, they were so heavy. But a flash of lightning followed by shocking sound would strike through her blindness and send her mind starting anew on its trek through memories; those brilliant flashes reset her thoughts, sending them back to the beginning in an ever-increasing terrifying loop.

But there was something near to her, something warm and strong and safe. It wasn't the same Light as before, and it didn't speak her name with the same rumbling accent; this illumination came from somewhere new, and it held her closer than her Light ever had. Her mind threw more horrors at her, and her body sent her growing spikes of pain, but she found if she held onto this new brightness, the fear, the pain faded.

The fingers of her right hand were wound tight into the shredded fabric of the Father's vestments, and they refused to untangle as she felt the bright pull away. She couldn't scream anymore from the pain, he throat was too raw, but the cry that came out from her bloodied lips was a plea not to be released, not to be moved.

A metallic clatter is heard as her blade slips from her fingers and falls uncerimoniously to the tiled white floors.

She never allowed her weapons to fall.

Her free hand grips tightly to his blood-soaked robes, refusing to release from the only brightness now cutting through the dim and growing darkness.

Could a large chunk of metal, shaped into the form of a human, show emotion? The logical answer would of been "No", but if asked to describe how he felt the cyborg would undoubtedly say he was concerned. It wasn't often the cyborg lost his balance, but the unexpected tightening of Meabh's grip on his robes as he was handing her to the medical staff pulled him with her, forcing him to take a few steps forward.

Meabh, this is not wise. They can stop the bleeding, I cannot. It was odd, he'd admit, refusing the live-saving skills of the surrounding experts just to cling to his bloody robes, but the following clang of her releasing her bloodied weapon told him something else. If she didn't want to let go, then he wouldn't argue, but one way or another she was going into surgery. Miles pulled her back into his grip, resting her in her arms bridal-style, and quickly glanced at the signs hanging on the ceiling.

He would carry her to the Emergency Room himself, and he would accompany her inside, and who would argue? No doctor or nurse, or any other force in that building was going to protest to someone who had the strength to tear apart the overhang outside, and shrug off his several apparent wounds. The small group quickly followed behind - though some were shocked as he kicked open the E.R doors with ease so they could begin their operation.

The brightness wasn't going to let her go. It held her close and she could still feel the warmth it brought seeping into her tired bones. Now, however, there came a different problem: she was running out of time.

A slick of crimson had formed down the Father's robes, soaking into the fabric until it could hold no more, then sliding down the long vestments to wash over his boots. The creeping red was now staining the white tiles of the sterile room, the occasional patter of droplets straight from the source dropping softly beside the streaks of scarlet. There was very little left in her, both physically and mentally; the horrors she'd been facing in her mind were fading, giving way to nothingness and dark, held back only by the brightness still cradling her broken form.

Physically, she was bled nearly dry.

The staff hurrying along next to - and trailing behind like a wave of concern and professional curiosity - the cyborg were calling out orders to those who were needed. Within moments, a team appeared from seemingly nowhere, all dressed and ready for what was likely to be a very long surgery. The towering, bloodied, bullet-riddled Father stood out in stark contrast to the pale walls and white coats and pastel scrubs; he was intimidating in his appearance, but terrifying in his determination.

No one stood in his way, not even the security that had coming running at the first sign of his arrival; now they simply stood, faces unsure and grim, as they watched him pass. Surely, some sort of backup had been called, but what with the war zone occurring around the Westminster Palace, there was little chance help would come for them.

The sniper couldn't scream, could yell out in defiance of her situation, but nonetheless a word escaped her blood-coated lips, so soft only her partner would hear.

"Michel."

And then a breath came, so ragged and harsh that it rattled in her chest with the sickening sound of fluid forced from her lungs. As she exhaled, red bubbles formed on her lips, and her entire ruined, pained body lost its last bit of strength.

Her hands drop from the Father's chest, and in her eyes, her warm brightness dimmed.

Things weren't looking good and the situation had to be resolved quickly. He placed the Sniper on the E.R table, handing her over to the care of the still unsure doctors and nurses that were following. The general rule was that no one could be in the E.R room during the operation, this applied to everyone bar the person needing surgery, but did it apply to Michel? No, it didn't, and the answer for that was simple. There existed no force currently in London with the strength to forcibly remove him from his place against the wall where he now stood. Out of the way, the medical staff really had no reason to complain - and its not like anyone them would speak up anyway.

More commotion began to stur the hospital as recent victims from the previous chaos arrived, nearly all being gunshot victims. It was a surprise, a hundred ghouls firing blindly into random crowds that once littered the street made it hard to miss, but luckily that problem had been dealt with - but not without consequence. The situation didn't help, most things didn't effect him, but it was possible for him to feel some emotion, even he couldn't deny it. He still regretted not being able to move in the way of the shots that hit Meabh, but it wasn't like he could change the outcome now, he could only wait.

The ER was suddenly a scene of chaos. Every doctor, nurse, assistant, and intern were dredged up from their duties to standby on-call as the rush of victims flooded in. Body after bloody body was rushed by, some breathing, some not, all brought in with shock in their eyes as to what had transpired.

Zombies had attacked them with guns.

The statement would be almost comical to any one of them a mere hour ago, but now, it was an all-to-real experience none of them would forget. The cries of the living were drowned out by the rush of medical equipment and the barked orders of medical staff. There were two, however, that garnered some attention: they'd been bitten by the things shooting into the crowd. These two, a young man, strapping and college bound, and an older woman, coiffed hair a tangled mess, were wheeled away to be examined more thoroughly; their's was a special case, a condition not at all like that of the poor souls shredded by automatic fire.

This maelstrom of sound and swirling humanity was lost on those in OR 3. Here, silenced reigned. The steady beat of the monitors surrounding the huddled group was only drowned out by the urgent, quick orders given by the medical team as they rushed with steady hands to save this dying, dangerous looking woman.

They'd needed to strip her first, and the lone officer left in the room was called in to handle her weapons: a lone knife and an empty handgun. He'd checked the sidearm first, sliding out the mag and pulling back the slide before he was satisfied; the knife was removed as well, handed to the officer in a hurried fashion as the team stripped her down to nothing. Her boots, pants, shirt, they were all off in a matter of moments, gathered up and shoved into a bin along one wall, disposed of without second thought.

Her harness, and weapons, were quietly, cautiously handed over to the intimidating cyborg by the officer. His brown eyes couldn't help but stare for a moment at the damage incurred by the Father, but there was no disgust in his features; instead, there was fascination. Everything he offered the Paladin was coated with the tacky feel of drying blood, and her normally impeccably kept equipment seemed old, dirty and unfit for their intended tasks. The officer returned to his spot along the wall opposite the cyborg, eyes returning to the scene before him.

The gaggle of doctors and nurses and support staff were struggling to get her "vitals under control". In layman's terms, they were attempting to keep her in the land of the living. But more than one person in that room felt as though there was something very...important about the person that lay bleeding out on their table; she was strong and fit, covered in scars and tattoos and blood, but they knew this wasn't a simple soldier, or a woman just living on the edge. Their eyes would flt to the Father, taking stock of his clothing, and then back to their task; were they priests? Were they there to fight? Fight what, though. The stories they'd heard filtering in was that a zombie attack had occurred. Were these brutal looking people here to stop such an absurd thing from happening?

It didn't matter now, what they thought. The redhead woman on their cold operating table was going to die if their skilled hands didn't save her. The team went to work in earnest, forgetting all else, and focusing solely on the task at hand: pull back a human from death.

As for the woman...she was without thought. There were no dreams, no nightmares. There was nothing at all, and if she could be, she would be entirely grateful that no such imaginations came her way.

There really wasn't much he could do aside from watch over her and the gear he was handed from his place against the wall. He'd most likely make the situation worse if he tried to help with the surgery. Various archives in his computer could tell him nearly anything about the human body, but he wasn't perfect, he couldn't handle a scalpel like he handled a gun. He wasn't built for the delicate work that surgery was, and he didn't like it. He'd prefer to do all he could, but apparently that was limited to something as useless as standing in the corner. He held Meabhs gear in his hands, ignoring all else around him.

Enter-----> You had one job*

The bike she 'borrowed' had a nice feel to it. A fine grip which seemed to fit perfectly with her hand, a comfortable leather seat, and an attractive color she found suitable to match her. Following the trail of destruction across London with only the fading beam of a taillight stretching out behind her, she took notes of the knocked over stone gargoyles, broken fire escapes, roof tiles and bricks, to make sure she was staying on track. The drive was surprisingly short, eventually arriving at a crowded hospital where the search came to an appropriate end with the overhang looking like a meteor tore through it. Sofia could make a somewhat accurate guess with her current knowledge on the situation. One of them is injured badly. This shouldn't be too much trouble.

She had the element of surprise, that was always the best things to have in this type of situation, and one was even wounded. Judging by what she heard, there was at least two. It shouldn't be that hard to spot a priest or two amongst a crowd of doctors and nurses. Sofia dismounted the bike, adjusted the shoulder strap to her rifle, and made her way inside. It was worse inside than where the attack originally happened. Several of the victims caught in the crossfire had the hospital in full alert. Nurses and Doctors rushed to and fro different rooms, it was almost as if they were short handed.

Sofia's eyes were immediately drawn to a strange blade laying on the tile floor, covered in dried blood. The smear marks around it made it obvious that it had been kicked around by the busy shuffling of feet, but otherwise untouched. Not many normal people would pick up such an object anyway. It was out of place, especially for a hospital. Sofia knelt down, placing it in her hand and examined it. It was very well made, that much was obvious, but it seemed familiar to her. The typical Iscariot makeover with silver mixed in with the metal. The Gaelic writing on it remained unknown to her, she couldn't read it of course, but she knew what Gaelic looked like. Where had she seen a similar weapon like this before?

A sudden shriek caught everyone's attention, including the Snipers, as a nurse was pushed out of a hospital room down the hall, a ghoul on top of her. Apparently bite victims got transferred here too. Great... Sofia thought as she reached for her knife on the back of her waist. She didn't want to use a firearm with so many normal, living people that could potentially get in the way, so it was the next best option. The nurse was beyond saving as the poor woman already had her throat torn out by the things strong jaws before it rose to its feet, but that didn't mean she couldn't solve the problem. It was her job to deal with things like this, after all.

The ex-assassin bolted from her kneeling position into a small series of long strides, drawing her KA-BAR blade from its sheath. The ghoul sluggishly lunged itself forward, its arms stretched out. Sofia stepped to the side at the last minute and rammed her knee into its stomach, forcing it to lean forward. The opening allowed her to drive the black, tanto influenced blade into the back of its neck just below the base of the skull, where it severed the connection between the brain and body; killing the ghoul instantly. The second, that was once a nurse, received nothing less than what the first one had gotten. It staggered to its feet and lurched forward. Sofia skillfully spun the large dagger she retrieved from the floor from its reverse grip into standard one as she waited for it to close in, before thrusting the tip of the silver blade straight into its chin, pushing it upward through the inside of its mouth and directly into its brain. A tug of her wrist removed the blade, following the thud of the zombies body hitting the tiles.

Sofia wiped the blood on her knife off on her pant leg before returning it to its sheath. She then ask the nearest of the medical staff, somewhat shocked at what they just witnessed, if they saw two "priests" come in earlier, and if so what room they were given. She rounded the corners to the dented E.R doors, looking as if they received a heavy impact somewhat recently, and followed to the directions the nurse in the lobby so kindly gave her, the large dagger resting on her shoulder the whole way.

There was mass chaos and incredible amounts of panic now ruling the hospital. People from all floors had heard about the disaster occurring in the main lobby and ER, and now hysteria had set in. Patients, doctors, nurses, visitors all poured from the surrounding hallways and out whatever exit they could find. However, a corralled mess of panicking humans thrown in with the steady, thoughtless press of a handful of ghouls made for an excellent mixture of carnage and reanimation.

Screams, and the thunder of numerous footfalls filled the area to the point of disorientation; many a person found themselves lost, and into the arms of waiting undead.

By the time the Hellsing operative found herself marching to the OR that held a rather drugged sniper and a cyborg killing machine, there were a gaggle of ghouls shuffling their way down the hall towards her, some with white coats stained with red, while others had IVs and bandages stuck to their rotting forms.

ALl of this went unnoticed by the team currently stitching up the last of the Iscariot sniper's wounds, closing the iodine-stained muscle and skin with deft hands. One, a small woman who was as round as she was tall, hesitantly made her way to the Father's side, her bloodied gloves peeled off one after the other in the deft manner of one accustomed to such acts.

"She was lucky. Two of the bullets entered her abdominal cavity, but missed all vital organs. One was lodged against the left iliac crest..."

She halts for a moment, as if pondering on the man's scientific knowledge of the human body.

"Her hip bone. But no damage was incurred. The third narrowly missed perforating her left lung, instead grazing it. There was fluid build up because of this, but not enough to warrant a stint be placed temporarily into the lung. Other than that..." the woman shrugs slightly, and furrows her brow. "I don't like to say this, but she should be dead. The odds of her coming out of this with the only issue being blood loss is...well, it's a miracle. And I don't say this often."

The brown-haired woman nods once to the cyborg Paladin, her face set into a small frown, and then turns to head back to the group of people finishing up their quick, perfect work. It was then that the screams began to filter through the thick walls and heavy doors; something terrible was happening, and it was surrounding them with panicked individuals.

The order, sharp and precise, was issued to take the woman off heavy anesthesia. The head surgeon ripped off his light and magnification headset, and marched over to the priest.

"She's stable, and is going to come out of this in a lot of pain. But since none of us are lingering, we had to push her out of the anesthesia. She's yours now."

With that, the man - and his entire team - stripped out of their scrubs and gloves, and scrambled for the exit, wary, but scared enough to continue on without looking back; they'd done their job. Now it was on the Paladin to keep her alive.

OOC: Mikey and Sofia's actions will both be in the same post's till the topic is over.
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Amongst the storm of the living rushing by her to the exit from the resulting incident, she couldn't help but find it somewhat depressing, and pathetic. The bystanders were understandable, but one would think doctors, people who were around death everyday, would at least put a scalpel to use when their life was in danger. That went for anyone actually. She knew children back in Israel and several other countries who wouldn't hesitate to gut someone over a can of soda, or a candy bar. Putting a knife into a walking corpse that was trying to tear into their flesh would of been a no-brainer. The fact that it was a walking corpse wouldn't of mattered until after they "re-killed" it.

The EX-Mossad spun her KA-BAR knife around in her fingers before quickly tossing it end-over-end down the hall, where it lodged itself into one of the creatures eyes in the far back of the group and punctured the brain behind it, dropping the desecrated body to the tile floor. Sofia then brought herself into a light run toward the small flock of undead, bringing the dagger she had rested on her shoulder out in a wide swing toward the one closest to her.

The finely crafted blade would once again have it's Gaelic writing blotted out with red. It drew forth a fountain of blood as it cleaved through the neck of a former nurse, the deformed head flying from its shoulders in one swift swing, followed by the soldiers left palm firmly slamming into the headless corpses chest and pushing it into the small crowd behind it, causing two of them to topple to the floor with it.

Undead weren't known for their balance, something that was easily exploitable.

Not wasting a moment, the large dagger in her hand was thrust forward into her second victim, finding its place inside an undead's mouth at an angel, the tip of which piercing the brain stem. Its body fell limp and was quickly kicked back against the wall to free the blade for further use. The last one - aside from the two crawling toward her with the dead weight of a former nurse on top of them - lunged forward with its arms outstretched. A quick spin on her right heel sent her left foot slamming into its chest, sending it stumbling several steps down the hall and through the OR doors.

Hopefully no one was inside.

She took notice of the two she knocked down earlier begin to rise to their feet, finally getting the dead nurses corpse off the top of them, and gave an unconcerned glance their way. A gloved hand reached to her waist and drew her sidearm before taking aim. Two shots were fired, and two ghouls fell silent on the blood-soaked floor. She wiped the bit of blood splatter on her cheer with her wrist, smearing it a bit, though unintentional.

She knelt down to retrieve her thrown knife that had taken up residence in the eye-socket of the ghoul that was now at her feet after holstering her sidearm. Though, as she stood up to enter the OR, her keen eyes shot open half an inch as she saw the blurred shadow through the glass on the door. She allowed her knees to buckle and fell backwards. A good reflex that saved her from what could have been a very painful impact.

The ghoul she kicked into the room was sent flying out by an unseen force like it was a softball, a rain of glass accompanying the impact. Sofia watched it soar over her, taking note that its head looked like it was caved it by a metal bat, before it came to a crashing halt against a few empty wheelchairs down the hall. Shocked, she rose to a crouched position and looked at the mess, then back at the doors which were still in the process of closing, allowing her to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be an injured man standing against the far wall. Clerical robes. Gotcha.

It was obvious she was outmatched in strength, even on her best day she couldn't send a person flying like that, but she had the tactical advantage. They wouldn't know she was the only one there, she felt confident she could bluff them if the need arose. It wasn't like she was here to kill them or start an all out war, especially in a hospital...even if it was somewhat cleared out now. She quickly moved to the side of the door and slowly placed her hand on it, easing it open.

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being turned off, however, caught her ear and made her rethink that. Easy... I'm not here to start a fight if I can help it.

The black was receding, giving way to small points of light, and sounds that seemed muffled in her ears. And there was cold on her skin, the air chilled and her body devoid of any way to protect her from the prickle it caused.

There was also pain.

Movement around her dredged up thoughts of where she was, and why she was even around to think; the last she remembered, Death was playing catch with her. But the pain, it shot through all thought as it bloomed from her stomach, fire rippling out from her lungs; the chill was soon gone, replaced with a thin sheen of sweat, slicking her body and mixing with the cool air around her. She shivered from the pain and the chill and the sudden thrust into wakefulness.

Then sound returned full force.

Crashing bodies and protesting metal struck her ears like knives, causing her to twitch from the sensation. A rasping sigh escapes her throat as move movement is heard, a sigh that turns into a strangled groan at the spiked pain in her body. The sniper couldn't move, not yet, the medication clouding everything but sound and touch; but her mind wanted to know she was safe, and it forced a word form her, regardless if she wanted it.

"Michel."

There was another voice, speaking just over her, and it sent a flinch through every part of her body; there was someone else, someone not her partner with them, and she didn't know if it was friendly or not. It worried her, not knowing, and it frustrated her more that she was without the least bit of power to aid her friend.

Her orders were to "treat them as the enemy," but given the situation that wasn't very smart. Simply walking in and demanding they lay down their arms and surrender under Hellsings authority to a man, Iscariot no less, who could possibly rip her apart bare handed didn't seem appealing, so she was going to do this her way. Smart, slow, and steady.

Sofia inched the door open slowly, just enough for her to slide the large knife through so Michel got a view. It was held by two fingers at the bottom of the hilt, a nonthreatening grip with the blade pointing toward the ground. It was clear she wasn't planning on using it. She also took the chance to glance into the room, allowing her to get a visual on the woman on the table. "This belongs to one of you, right? If I'm not mistaken...to the sniper on the table."

The cyborg took notice of the weapon, and the woman's words. It was the one Meabh dropped when they first arrived, however he questioned how he knew it belonged to her, and how she knew Meabh was a sniper. He thought about whether to shoot first and ask questions later, but that was put on hold when he heard the injured redhead speak. The lack of clothing on her wasn't something he was just going to ignore. He chose, instead, to ignored Sofia for the moment and lowered his handgun as he made his way to her side. He removed his heavy cassock and all its tattered glory and placed it over her, keeping his main focus on the suspicious guest at the door.

Sofia got a look at the man up close now, his left cheek was all but gone, what was left of his clothing was in tatters, and his jaw - from what she could see of it - was made of metal. It looked like the policeman was telling the truth when he was spouting off about a man being able to tank hails of gunfire. She decided to weigh the odds. The room didn't have any windows and was decently sized, though it didn't have much cover inside. She was also fairly certain that getting into any type of combat with the snipers guardian wouldn't end well for her, not unless she got a lucky shot off with her rifle - and that wasn't likely. She'd have to play her cards right.

She creaked the door open a bit more and took a small step inside, both of her hands were raised, empty aside from Meabhs knife dangling in her fingers. It's not my style to attack someone lying in a hospital bed, and I can guess you already know I'm no threat to you. I'm just here to return something that was lost...and have a talk on behalf of my boss.

There was that voice again. It drifted in and out, just as her thoughts, but it remained soft. The redhead found herself wanting to hear more, to hear better; it was then that a weight was placed over her, banishing the chill from her prone form. A frown takes her face, and as her brow furrows, her lips part in a long intake of breath, one that heralded a new step in her waking-up process: opening her eyes.

Those grey orbs part slowly, blinking away light and shadow as they fought to focus on the world again. The pain in her was growing steadily, but in a showing of truly remarkable strength, she forces back the worst with a shuddering groan.

Her right arm, threaded with IVs, struggled from the table to grasp at the fabric she was now swathed in. It felt familiar, even smelled familiar; her mind, though slow, put together what it was, and who it belonged to.

"Michel."

Her voice comes out in a rasp, her eyes closing again with the effort. She pries them open to find her partner standing over her, yet not looking in her direction. His face...his face was a mess, and she could assume the rest of him was similar. That voice. Her fingers clench around the fabric, her mind focusing now and working to help her weigh the situation.

"We...we are not alone."

The question came out more as a statement, designed to tell her partner she was aware, and that she was now able to focus.

The cyborg might have put his guns away, but that didn't make the situation any less dangerous for her. If she played her cards right she might be able to get through this without either side losing someone. She wanted to do this without violence, if possible.

She might be a killing machine in her own right, a very skilled one, but she learned long ago that no matter how 'badass' a human might be, they were nothing compared to anything rivaling supernatural beings, in close quarters. Luckily, the metal-man didn't seem like the overly fanatical type Iscariot usually allowed into their flocks. If he was, she probably wouldn't of even made it as far into the room as she did.

Negative. Single Hellsing agent detected. Minimal threat, was all Miles said in response, his targeting system locked onto the Israeli solider, ready to act on a moments notice if things did get violent. A firefight breaking out was something he wasn't going to tolerate in the room they were in, with Meabh in her current condition. We will not answer questions relating to our presences here.

That was the first time Sofia had ever been called a "minimal threat" to her face, and quite frankly the only time she'd ever allow it to slip by without proving the person wrong, cause this time even she believed it. Sofia used her foot to ease the door closed behind her, keeping her hands raised. She didn't need any unwanted guests barging in, especially hotheads like Chad and an inexperienced new guy like Benny. Shit would take a turn for the worst with the amount of tension that was in the air, and Hellsing's three man squad would be on the losing end of that bout.

She moved slowly under the cyborgs careful watch as she took two small steps further into the room and decided that was far enough. She wasn't going to push her luck. It was time to see if she still possessed the skills she was proud of having, or if they'd rusted away over the short break of her going without missions. Then this is going to be a long day, because I cant go home until I figure out why part of downtown London was turned into a bullet-riddled, ghoul infested parking lot, and how Iscariot and Millennium was involved.

Sofia flipped the knife around, catching it by the tip of the blade before holding it out - handle first - toward the redhead. I'd rather you hold this since it is yours.. She wasn't expecting there to be a fully blown conversation, the woman just got out of surgery from the looks of it, but she thought it better to get the weapon out of her hands and have her 'threat level' lowered as much as possible.

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OOC: And this is what happens when I post without sleeping....

Hellsing agent. Not really what she wanted to hear, but since the woman - as she assumed from the voice - didn't appear to demanding violence any time soon, the sniper's mind was somewhat at ease. Her partner was still standing, still watching over her, and so she didn't feel immediately threatened; he was safety, and he saved her. Still, she was fighting with the pain and the drugs, unable to fully comprehend what exactly was going on; Hellsing was here, and that was to be expected, yet the woman was talking...calmly. Rationally. And didn't make complete sense that an operative of their Protestant counterpart would simply stroll in and strike up a conversation.

Normally, they shot first and never asked questions.

Tightening her grip on the heavy cloth draped over her, the redhead shifts in an incredibly uncomfortable manner to gain a better look at their new friend. Pain of an inordinate amount shot through her at the move, causing her to hiss through her teeth and force her body to relax through the agony. Closing her eyes, she makes an attempt to work her feet, then her legs, testing to see just how weak she truly was. She found out in quick fashion that everything worked, just slowly, and painfully.

As the Irishwoman took stock of her...well, everything, the Hellsing agent spoke up again. Releasing a long, slow breath, she turns her attention to the IVs pumping fluids into her currently sickly-pale body. "We were tracking a Millennium operative, and he happened to fall into your back yard."

The words were soft, strained, though said in a manned that spoke of strength, and a tone which left little room for argument.

The Hellsing woman had run into a wall, and it came with red hair and an iron will.

"He brought a few friends to the party. They were dealt with as we could, and as our objective was achieved, we left the rest to your capable hands."

Her grey eyes finally alight on the younger woman as she hands over a silver blade more dear to her than all other objects in the world. The girl was...familiar. As Meabh's fingers closed around the blood-stained grip, a name struck her from the blue, and it caused a faint twitch of her brow, and a tug at her lips.

"Thank you." The feel of the blade sent a wave of security through her, biting back at the pain threatening her every thought. She allows her eyes to travel back to the girl's face.

"Thank you, Sofia."

This young woman, she was familiar. The redhead sniper had seen her before, though not so close; tales were told of her, to be fair, tales that spoke of her talent not only with a rifle, but a blade. It was not the fables spun about the Israeli Meabh recalled: it was her face. She'd seen the girl through the scope of a dirty, recently-acquired .50 caliber in a remote part of Yemen; since the other sniper had not been the target, the Irishwoman had done nothing.

She was rather glad she did.

Sofia's assumption seemed to be right on target. It was her. She knew the dagger couldn't of been a coincidence, but she never expected to find someone of her talents in the employment of Iscariot. Hell, it was surprising Hellsing's leader was still alive now that she knew. The last time she could remember coming across the eagle-eyed Irish woman was on one of her assignments in Sudan. The Mossad secretly evacuated Zimbabwean Jews out of the country due to fears of persecution by the Zimbabwean government, which was allied with the Palestine Liberation Organization and Libya.

Of course, Sofia didn't know at the time Meabh was probably on Iscariot business. The Israeli could probably accurately guess, based on what was happening at the time, that it had something to do with the Sudanese government and their aerial bombings of Christian communities by Sudanese Security Force. After all, a few of the government figure heads relating to the incidents did end up on the wrong side of a sniper rifle. Sofia did catch her in her in the sights of her own rifle, but she was actually helping the Israelis evacuation mission with the commotion her assassinations were causing, so she left her be.

Sofia gave a light nod in response to the woman's small show of gratitude, a small smirk appearing on her lips. "I suppose I should thank you two as well. Despite how many casualties there were, it could of been a lot worse. You even made an impression on a few police officers." Sofia left it at that. She didn't want to get too friendly in this situation. A mutual respect was there, and gratitude was given where it was due, but that was about it. Now wasn't the time or place to get off topic.

"I'm not going to try and pry Iscariot information out of you, those aren't my orders. But I don't suppose you know why he just so happened to fall in our backyard..? You were the one tracking him after all, right?"

They weren't going to get out of the situation without either telling her what she wanted to know, or Michel tossing the Mossad on her ass outside. Really not caring for either option, the Iscariot woman frowns and shift again, this time rolling onto one elbow in an attempt to position herself to getting up.

It hurt. A lot.

Biting her lip and suppressing a bark in response to the feeling, the woman gazes at the IVs in her arms, and follows the tubes back to their origins; one was a blood bag, the other fluids. Laying the knife in her lap, she peels back the protective tape on the needle giving her blood; the bag was nearly drained, and she didn't feel like having anything else stuck in her for the day.

"You should look to your city for the answer to that. Our intel placed him here."

With a long, slow motion, she slides the long steel needle out of her arm, allowing a hiss to escape through her teeth at the action. "You don't think a dozen plus limos filled with ghouls was shipped here from out of town, do you?"

She tosses the freed implement over the edge of the table, then turns her attention to the second. Stripping the sticky tape off her skin, she performs the same maneuver as before, the same hiss of pain rushing through clenched teeth.

"I think you're smart enough to realize the implications of another Millennium outpost in London."

Finally sliding out the second needle, she chucks it away to hang with its friend, and then flexes both arms to work out the soreness. Her gold-rimmed eyes look back up to the Hellsing woman, and it is clear that it is now the girl's turn in the conversation; Meabh would offer no more than that, and it was up to Sofia to put together what she could.

She figured she'd get a response of something along those lines. There wasn't any reason to accuse Iscariot of anything more than trespassing, and more of a reason to thank them. However, she didn't think her boss would see it that way. Another political argument between Hellsing and Iscariot was likely to occur, and the bickering would continue in its endless cycle.

"Noted... I don't doubt there's a hive of Nazi mizdayen's hiding out in London, it would be stupid of us not to. But they've hardly been active enough to pop up on our radar."

Sofia felt comfortable enough now to move her arms as she pleased, so long as she didn't make a move toward either of them or for a weapon, Sofia was confident enough that she wouldn't be shot by her fellow snipers guard dog, and as such she crossed her arms.

"You have to understand, as a former Mossad I've leaned not to believe in coincidence. As much as I do appreciate you taking a few bullets to kill our problem, the timing was almost too good to be true. When those meshugah suddenly pop up out of the blue after hiding for so long, and Iscariot being the first one to react while they're in protestant territory, it opens the mind to all sorts of scenarios.

She paused a moment to choose her next words. Was there really any reason for pushing the issue anymore? There wasn't much left to ask. She got the information she was ordered to retrieve. The what, the how and the who were all now in her possession, it was easier than expected.

"Not really a demand or a request, but I wouldn't mind knowing why Iscariot took an interest in a Millennium agent in London."

-----------------
OOC:

Words she used in Hebrew:

mizdayen's = F*ckers
Meshugah = Psychos

Now it was time to see if she could keep her legs underneath her. The Iscariot politely listens to the girl's words, taking note that she was, indeed, intelligent and perceptive. With a grunt, she raises up off of her elbows, making a face from all the pain; she knew this wasn't the best idea she'd ever slapped together, but she needed to know if she would be able to take her partner at least half-carrying her out of this situation.

The heavy clerical robes of the Father's slipped slightly at her jerky movements, displaying her upper torso to the room; it didn't particularly bother her, though she could only assume what the other two thought.

It was the scars, dark and light, that caught attention first. They curved around her full frame like roads in a scenic plain, cutting into the skin in places, muscle carved away in the more brutal examples. And then there were the bullet holes, recently added to. The white bandages wrapped around her midsection hid the newest member to her collection, but they couldn't hide the red seeping through as a reminder at just how bad this had gotten.

Right above the gauze and tape there was a particularly nasty looking scar, hovering just below the patch of gauze above her lungs; it seemed as though something had gone right through her, and it wasn't something small.

Gripping the tattered robe, she pulls it away from her enough to swing around her legs, left the right, until they hung off the edge of the table. It hurt, this move, but it was necessary. Pain was tingling in even her fingertips, though a reaction to it would have to wait; there were more important matters at hand.

"To be frank and honest, I have no idea why we were sent after that abomination. I was given orders. You know how that is."

She wasn't gong to lie to this Hellsing girl, and it didn't make any difference in this case whether she told the truth or not; it was no lie, what she told, and to be fair, the pain was making it difficult to even think of a convincing tale.

With a groan of pain, and a cut-short cry, she slips the rest of the way to the floor, her toes barely touching the cold tiles before her legs buckle beneath her. Sluggishly, she tries to grab for the metal table, but her body was fighting against her, so she misses her mark entirely.

The cyborg had stood quietly for the most part, a watchful eye trained on the Hellsing agent despite her claims of not being here to start a conflict. He was sure the woman understood the gravity of the situation she was in, but he wouldn't allow any movement of the woman to go unnoticed. Michel wanted to object to the release of information Meabh was handing over, even if it wasn't much, but if she felt comfortable speaking it then by no means would he object. His attention turned to Meabh as she tried to remove herself from the table, holding out a hand in protest as she moved to the edge.

It was too early for her to move around, it didn't take the thousands upon thousands of dollars of Iscariot tech inside his head to see that. Completely indifferent to the Iscariot Snipers current clothing issue, he quickly reached out to catch her. A hard fall in her current condition could possibly make the wounds even worse. His arm slipped around her waist while his other hand reached out for her arm to bring it up over his neck. He was ready for her to fall due to her current condition, but it wasn't the very smoothest of movements considering how quick he had to react, even with his prior knowledge.

Meabh, it is still too early to move from this facility, your wounds are not fully healed. I advise more rest.

Sofia's futile attempt to react to the fall was almost comically overshadowed - being left with her hand halfway outstretched. Then again she half-way expected it. The man wit h the torn cheek seemed a bit protective, but she'd only just now realized to what extent. Seeing as the situation was dealt with, she reflected on what the fellow marksman said before her cut-short trip to the floor occurred. It was believable. She didn't detect any hint of deceit in her words and given her own skill set and lying ability, that was honestly good enough for her - atleast in this situation.

Sofia had no other reason to stay here, and to be honest she didn't want to. She had two children she needed to go check up on downtown. Hopefully they hadn't been eaten by ghouls.....yet.

Unfortunately, I do know how that is, and as bothersome as it may be I cant refuse them. I've stuck around long enough, you've given me all I was suppose to find out and I'm grateful. I'll take my leave then. Sofia took a few steps backwards before turning to face the door. Oh...and regardless of your current condition.... you do know I cant lie to my superior and say I didn't find any Iscariot agents here, right? I figure you got atleast another hour, maybe two, before I have to give a report back to her. A friendly commendation: Be gone before then.

A friendly warning was all she left the two with before making her way back into the blood covered hall. It wasn't a threat, it was more so a way to avoid more trouble that would no doubt be stirred up.



Sofia >>>> Exit back to "You had one job"

She could feel herself falling, but the Iscariot knew there was nothing she could do about it. Before her body impacts the cold tiles,however, a strong, familiar hand snakes around her waist, and scoops her away from the floor. It hurt, of course, this save, but as one arm was slung over her partner's shoulders, she realized the pain was secondary to their need to evacuate the area.

Head hung and lips smiling through the pain, Meabh shifts her weight and grinds out a few words.

"I've rested long enough, Michel."

Her eyes cut to his face, and a frown takes over her lips.

"You know you should have exfilled with the others. It would have been...logical."

A small cough stopped her short of another comment, but she managed to suppress it long enough to finish her thought.

"Then again, you are only human."

She smiles at him again, redistributing her weight to stand more upright with the aid of the Father. Huffing a bit, she turns her attention to the Hellsing agent, nodding in response to her "friendly" advice. "Thank you, Sofia." She was almost certain the words would be lost on the younger sniper's ears, but the woman felt the need to say them regardless. Biting her lower lip, Meabh reaches out to snare the harness tossed onto the table as she fell, and slipped it over her free arm. The sidearm and sheathed blade clanked against her ribs, causing a muttered fuck to escape her.

Snagging the remaining knife, she sheaths it as well, feeling somewhat comforted by their presence. It was time to go, though she didn't know exactly how they were going to get back to the airport with her in this condition.

"Well, Father, I think it is time to slap together a plan. Any thoughts?"

This made things more complicated than they had to be. It would of been easier if they went unnoticed during this whole time, then again that was a false hope to cling to. Along with the obvious trail of destruction he left behind him, they were neck deep in protestant territory. However, at least Sofia was "kind" enough to give them a time limit and head start, even though two hours wasn't much. His attention focused on Meabh as she spoke, slightly worried that the save he just committed caused her pain, but at least it was better than hitting the floor.

"Negative. You haven't rested at all."

He paused a moment at her next words as she redistributed her weight, making him stand upright to assist in the act. Leaving her propped against a bullet-riddled car, bloody and exhausted, and at the mercy of the remaining ghouls didn't seem logical to him. Especially when he had the ability to correct that situation. A logical action was characterized by clear, sound reasoning. Abandoning her wasn't something he'd do, it wasn't sound reasoning, it never would be. What it was, however, was a lack of effort. A lack of effort against someone who had seen him as more than a pile of bolts and computer chips. It would of been unacceptable.

"It would of been illogical if I could not of helped you and proceeded to try. Abandoning someone you hold close, especially while you have the ability to save them, is not logical. It is cowardice. That is my logic."

He glanced toward the door for a moment. It seemed like she wasn't going to take no for an answer. If she wanted to leave, he wouldn't force her to stay, but the problem of how they would evacuate was still there. He supposed he could always carry her again, but now that she was conscience the pain might be a bit...much, but it was looking like the quickest and easiest way.

"If we borrowed a vehicle we would have to take the long way to the airport, the streets are most likely backed up. An aircraft is not accessible for a more preferred method of travel. Final option: I might have to carry you again."

Every part of her hurt, and not just the bits that had been shot, bruised, cut on and sewn up; there was a general ache settling in that had become quite familiar over the course of the past few years. Struggling to get her wobbling legs underneath her, the Iscariot can't help but to catch the cyborg Father's response to her comment.

And why can't you see just how noble a man you are?

Hissing through her teeth as another bout of sharp pain hit her, the redhead clenches her fingers around his supporting arm, grip still remarkably strong, even for someone in this terrible of shape. She didn't have to be convinced that she was slowing him down, that she would likely cause them to get caught if he wasn't careful; she also knew Michel was never going to leave her behind.

The thought made her smile, but it also stung a bit.

One day, he would try to save her, and he wouldn't have the ability. One day, maybe soon, she would be beyond aid and he would try for her anyway. One day, she was going to get him killed. It hurt, a thought like this, btu she did her best to toss it to the back of her mind; there were more important issues readily at hand, issues they needed to address in a timely manner.

"Well, you know I am always up for being in your arms again, Michel. Makes me feel loved."

Her tone carried more cheer than she thought herself possible to muster at this point. Dragging the ragged robe off the table, she clings to it as she readies herself to be swept off her feet, quite literally so.

"I will restate what was already said on the plane: "People wrap themselves up in beliefs with the hope of protection." This is pointless, as I will continue acting as a 'physical shield' for your protection if it is required of me.

Such a line would normally come with a bit of hesitation, or some form of embarrassment, but not for him. He was monotone as always, but serious in his statement, his facial features unchanging even with a partially clothed sniper that was now scooped up bridal style in his arms. They didn't have much time, even if the Hellsing agent gave them a rough estimate of how much time they had, he didn't want to stay around any longer unless it was needed, if it was he wouldn't object, but since Meabh insisted, it was time to go.

He'd carry her to their destination, the airport, in a similar way he did to get her here. Collateral damage to rooftops and other platforms would be present but that wasn't their problem, that was Hellsings. The plane would be ready to leave as soon as they arrived, and along with their transportation back home, a spare set of clothing would also be present for Meabh.


Exit-----> Traversing London Hulk Jump style, to the airport, then to Rome

[[Meabh is past the point of being able to make witty comments, so up up and away we go!]]

------------> Rome via Mikey's awesomeness.