The hum of jet engines filled the spacious cabin of the private aircraft cutting through clouds toward New York. The plane's interior was sleek and custom-tailored—black leather seating, warm mahogany accents, and reinforced plating built into the flooring and windows. After all, this wasn't your average luxury flight.
Jasen sat at a side table near the tinted window, sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms, a steaming mug of strong black coffee beside him. His brow was furrowed in mild frustration, golden-yellow eyes scanning line after line of requisitions, mission logs, and personnel reports. Paperwork. Endless goddamn paperwork.
He sighed heavily, placing his pen down for a second and rubbing his eyes. "I hate paperwork." Across from him, comfortably reclined in a plush leather chair, was Alucard. His posture was regal but casual, legs crossed, reading a thick paperback with quiet intensity. The title etched across the spine in bold was unmistakable: DUNE by Frank Herbert.
Jasen glanced over and smirked. "You want to help out with some of this?" Alucard didn't even look up. "Nope. You're the Commander of the Slayers. Leadership comes with it duties. Delegate or hire an assistant."
Jasen sipped his coffee and narrowed his eyes. "How about you be my assistant?" Alucard turned a page. "No thanks."
"I'll pay you." Now Alucard glanced up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "You couldn't afford me." Jasen didn't even crack a smile. "Rude. Alucard returned to his book. "Accurate." The cabin settled into silence again. Jasen tapped his pen on the edge of the folder, then gave the vampire another glance. "So you're reading Dune now?"
Alucard nodded. "I found it at a library. Decided to see what the hype was about. So far, it's… intriguing." Jasen's face softened. "I read the whole series. Love it. The first book's a masterpiece." Alucard hummed. "I'll get your thoughts when I finish—"
"Paul wins the first book," Jasen cut in. "Becomes Emperor of the Universe. Marries Irulan for politics, keeps Chani as his true love, though their first kid dies. Whole spice war, religion, messiah complex. Lets even talk about the five others books but God Emperor is peak next to the first book."
Alucard sat upward and slowly closed the book. His expression was unreadable, pale fingers tapping the cover. Then, in an utterly calm voice, he said: "You're a dick. You know that, right?"
Jasen shrugged. "I thought I said spoiler warning. Oh well" Jasen chuckled. Then a knock came at the cabin's internal door. A well-dressed flight attendant entered, pushing a small travel case on a polished cart. She smiled at Alucard. "Delivery from the Commander." Alucard raised an eyebrow and looked to Jasen, who was still signing forms without looking up. "What… is this?"
Jasen casually gestured toward the suitcase. "Clothes. You dress like a 15th-century nobleman lost in the 21st century. We're heading into New York. You need to blend in a little and stretch that style muscle."
Alucard opened the suitcase his golden eyes narrowed. Inside was a carefully curated outfit: black slacks, an obsidian turtleneck, dark red overcoat lined with silver filigree, gloves, and to top it all off, a box of black hair dye. He slammed the case shut with a force that rattled the table. "No. Way. In hell."
Jasen didn't look up from his work. "Yes, you are."
"I will not wear this abomination," Alucard growled. "And I'm certainly not dyeing my hair."
"Then go back to the castle," Jasen replied flatly. "But if I lose control, or Rodin decides we're not worth his time, and your precious Belmonts die because you didn't come with me?" Then silence. Alucard stood still. His jaw tightened, hands clenched.
Then…"Fine."
Jasen looked up with a smirk. "You can skip the dye. Wig's in the lining." Hours later, they emerged into a heavily secured hangar in the outskirts of New York under moonlight, stepping from the jet ramp like something out of a noir film.
Jasen led, tall and lean in a fitted black leather jacket, the number 13 embroidered on the chest. Beneath it, an olive-green V-neck clung to his torso. Black cargo pants tucked into scuffed high-top Converse. A long, forest-green scarf wrapped his neck loosely, and his golden eyes were hidden behind round black polarized shades. He looked like a rogue agent straight out of an anime-meets-Tarantino flick.
But Alucard…
He looked like something else entirely.
The overcoat rippled as he walked, its red-black sheen catching the low-hanging lights. His face was framed by long black hair, the wig styled immaculately. Gloves on, red-tinted sunglasses across his face, and a palpable aura of both elegance and menace. If anyone blinked twice, they would've thought Alucard from Hellsing Ultimate had stepped off the page and into real life.
"Don't say a word," Alucard muttered. Jasen's shit-eating grin nearly broke his stoic mask. "You look fantastic."
"I hate you."
"And you're still here." As they passed hangar personnel, several heads turned. Someone whispered, Alucard grit his teeth. "This is humiliating." Jasen clapped him on the back. "Nah. You're just fashionably late to the 21st century."
The New York City skyline slowly turned from obsidian to steel-blue as dawn crept over the horizon. Streetlamps blinked their last flickers, the bitter cold of night clinging to the gutters and pavement, defiant against the coming light. The city that never sleeps still buzzed around them, even at this hour, but in this moment, two figures moved with purpose.
Jasen pulled his black leather jacket tighter, his olive-green V-neck shirt barely insulating him from the frigid wind. His black scarf fluttered slightly behind him. At his side, Alucard walked with the composed silence trench coat flowing, still clearly irritated by his forced modern appearance.
"You alright?" Jasen asked without looking. Alucard didn't respond at first, but his breath steamed slightly in the chill. "I was fine… until I remembered I'm dressed like a cursed fashion model." Jasen smirked, but before he could reply, a voice called out from across the street.
"What the hell is he wearing?!" They turned to see a young woman approaching. She had long brown hair, loosely tied back under a woolen beanie, and wore a stylish black coat over fitted jeans and sturdy boots. Her eyes lit up with playful recognition.
"Laura Morris," Jasen thought. One of the Belmont's descendant under Alucards tutelage. Oh great here we go," Alucard replied, his tone flattening out as she came near.
Laura stopped in front of them, arms crossed, smirking. "Seriously, Alucard I haven't seen you in two days and this is how you dress when I'm gone?" Alucard kept his composure, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't my idea."
"I can tell," Laura laughed, then gave Jasen a nod of respect. Good to see you again Commander."
"Good to see you again. Nice to see you still have some humor even in this cold." Jasen replied. Laura winked. "Gotta keep things light in this line of work. Anyway, Alucard, Logan went to grab some coffee. It's freezing out here, and Enzo's already inside the bar. He hasn't moved all night, so we're good."
"Good," Alucard said simply. "Get warm, get food. Meet us at the hangar in four hours." Laura saluted playfully and turned on her heel. "Perfect. Gives me time to sightsee and drag Logan away from that slut at the café." She walked away humming a tune, waving over her shoulder.
As her silhouette faded into the growing crowd of New Yorkers starting their day, Jasen and Alucard turned their attention to the alleyway before them. At the end, half-shrouded in steam rising from a sewer grate, a neon sign buzzed softly above a steel doorway.
GATES OF HELL
The letters glowed crimson and gold like embers in the morning dark. "Well," Alucard muttered, "here we are." Jasen cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Let's rock."
The door creaked open with a subtle hiss of warmth and music, letting them into the surprisingly refined atmosphere of the Gates of Hell bar. It was a space where modern class with leather booths, marble countertops, red-tinted chandeliers. And there, hunched nervously at the bar, was Enzo. His fingers tapped anxiously against a half-empty whiskey glass, voice rambling.
"Listen Rodin, I'm gonna get you your money. Just give me a few more days, alright? My source got pinched, the route was compromised—" Behind the bar, a mountain of a man in a pressed bartender's vest ignored him completely. Rodin was calm, silent and imposing. He shook a drink with careful rhythm, his pitch-black sunglasses reflecting nothing. Then he poured the drink
Enzo reached for the glass, but Rodin smoothly slid it out of his reach. "Not for you." "What?" Enzo blinked in confusion before turning—and nearly jumped out of his skin.
"JESUS!" he yelped. "You two can't just appear behind people like that, especially dressed like that! What the hell, who is the weirdo dressed like that?" Alucard growled lowly, just enough for his fangs to glint for a brief, threatening moment. "Nope!" Enzo squeaked. "Never mind just forget I asked!"
Rodin, without glancing up, slid two drinks toward the newcomers. "For the man of the hour," he said, nodding to Jasen. "A Canatarito."
He turned to Alucard. "And for my young dhampir—Pomegranate Rose Spritz." Jasen raised an eyebrow. "You knew we were coming?" Rodin finally looked up, and even though his eyes were hidden, both men could feel the intensity of his gaze.
"I always know when important people are on the move. Now—sit down, drink. We'll talk business after. Enzo, go check on the VIPs."
"Y-yeah sure," Enzo stammered, scuttling off behind the velvet curtain. Alucard and Jasen shared a brief look, then sat down slowly. The drinks shimmered faintly in the bar's red glow—steam curling off them in ghostly wisps.
Jasen lifted his glass. "Cheers." Alucard nodded and took his. The taste hit instantly. Sharp citrus, deep warmth, and subtle spice for Jasen. Cold floral notes with a hint of metallic sweetness for Alucard. Both men looked up at Rodin in near disbelief.
"Holy shit," Jasen whispered. Rodin finally cracked a grin. "Glad you like it." He leaned on the bar, knuckles pressed together. "Now—" he said, voice dropping into a grave tone, "—to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?"