Work had been fairly steady throughout the course of the day. There had been no special reports or incidents of any significance worth noting. Aside from one particularly frustrating incident when another co-worker –he was not sure whom– had stolen his lunch from the office refrigerator, which resulted in him having to find some other means of sustenance to keep him going for the rest of the day, William T. Spears, Dispatch Manager of the London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices had made it through his shift with little discord. He felt relatively content that he might actually be getting home on time for once.

The clock was nearing five, and his work was nearly complete, but, as was his custom, William liked to make absolutely certain that everything was squared away before he clocked out for the evening. Turning back to the computer screen before him, he pinched the bridge of his nose. These machines were a more modern innovation, and although humans had been slowly perfecting them for personal and business use for the past twenty to thirty years or so, the reapers had begun utilizing them for their own purposes about fifteen years before that. It usually held true that in this realm, technology was just a tad above the bar in comparison to that of the humans'.

William did not care much for the machine. Despite the fact that it made every aspect of work about a hundred times easier and more efficient than it had been one-hundred-some-odd years ago, the lighted screen gave him such wonderful pains in the front of his skull after staring at it all day.

He navigated to his e-mail and opened it. His jaw dropped.

There were 132 new messages in his inbox. Scanning through them quickly, he noticed that they had all accumulated within the last hour.

"What is all this?" he exclaimed out loud.

Most of the subject lines were preceded by words such as "IMPORTANT" and "URGENT" displayed in all capital letters.

He let his hands fall to the desk, slumping back in his chair and letting out an exasperated sigh. Pausing for a moment to allow his irritation to brew, he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with his index finger and leaned forward again to take a closer look at the messages.

He opened the oldest message first. Forwarded to him by London branch manager, Aldo Cawley it was titled simply, "FWD: cc: Aid." He read:

To whom it may concern,

Starting within the next few days, we here at the New York City, Manhattan Branch Office of Collections will be expecting a rather heavy workload. So heavy, in fact, that upon analyzing the sheer numbers of souls that need to be collected, it has been projected that we do not have the man power to handle the massive influx. We are asking for the assistance of any available dispatchers and/or officers that can be spared. Please, we ask that you lend your services to our office for a temporary period of time. You will be compensated for the inconvenience if you wish. Thank you.

Jason Watts,
New York City, Manhattan Branch Office of Collections, Human Resources Manager.

William pondered this for a moment. The Manhattan branch office was asking for extra dispatchers? The New York City headquarters was one of the largest reaper dispatch offices in the world, and if one of its largest branches was not able to handle a particular job, then something truly ground shaking must be approaching.

Now he was curious. He went to the second message, this one from Aldo himself.

"This is not a request," it stated in the subject line. William sighed again, dreading what fate lay within the orders outlined in this message.

William,

I am sending you and all of your subordinates to the United States tomorrow afternoon. I am aware that you, personally, are not accustomed to working in the field, but the situation is dire, or so I am told. I would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. If at all possible I would also like to meet with your subordinates at that same time. Please pass this information on to them. Thank you.

Aldo Cawley,
London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, General Manager.

William quickly began to compose his response.

Mr. Cawley,

I am just finishing up for the day. I will try to catch the others before they leave, but if I cannot, I will pass whatever information you have to share along to them. I will be in your office as soon as I am done here.

William T. Spears
London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Reaper Dispatch Manager

Whatever this was, it was serious business. He opened a new blank message, typed in the addresses of his subordinates, and then typed in the subject line, the word, "URGENT."

Hello,

If you have already left for the day, please enjoy your evening. However, I would like to see you first thing tomorrow morning. If you are still here, please wait at your station. I will be around shortly to collect you. Mr. Cawley wishes to speak with our division. This is urgent.

William T. Spears
London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Reaper Dispatch Manager

He marked the message as urgent and hit send. He quickly scrolled through some of the other messages, some of which appeared to be nothing more than the mundane messages one receives on a daily basis from either bored or self-important employees. Other messages included some of these same urgencies from the offices in Philadelphia, Langley, and a few smaller offices from places of which William had never even heard.

Just as he was about to close the window and shut the computer down for the evening, the loud ding of his e-mail alert sounded. He sighed, and clicked it open again, hurriedly.

It was from a MistressGS69. The subject, "RE: URGENT."

Oh, he knew already from whom this had been sent. He did not know why he bothered even to open it, as he knew already what it would say. Its sender usually waited for him at the end of the day regardless of the circumstances.

Will,

I will be waiting for you with bated breath, darling. 3

XOXO;P
Grell Sutcliff,
London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Head Dispatcher.

William shook his head and shut off the computer. Two hundred years later, and his subordinate, closest colleague and, dare he say it, friend, Mr. Grell Sutcliff continued to affect the same tacky phrases of endearment to which he was so partial.

Gathering his things and hurrying from his office, William went around to all the desks of the reapers in his division, of which only Ronald Knox and, as expected, Grell Sutcliff were still present. As per usual, Grell sat behind his desk, feet up, arms back, fluttering his eyelids at the approaching manager.

Ever since the punk scene took London by storm, the red headed reaper had adopted a rather unique fashion sense. When Grell had shown up looking like the sideshow to an even freakier circus act, William had pulled him aside and persuaded a compromise with the delinquent reaper that he was to keep his outfits somewhat modest during working hours. However, though Mr. Sutcliff had been prohibited from wearing the torn jeans and studded leather jackets that characterized that particular style of dress to the office, the dress code had never stopped him from expressing his individuality in the past, so why should he break with tradition? During that phase, William had been consistently burdened with complaints about Mr. Sutcliff's ostentatious and distracting get-ups. Not to mention, he also received many criticisms about Mr. Sutcliff's adopted theme song at the time, as the psychopath apparently thought it was funny to blast "Don't Fear the Reaper" from his red 8-track player just before taking a soul. Despite his manager's best efforts, William had not been able to prevent Mr. Sutcliff from abandoning any of these rites.

Grell's fashion senses quickly shifted, following along with the trends of the human world, and soon he had abandoned his quaffed, black-streaked faux hawk for the hairstyle he had sported back before the turn of the last century, as this look was practically identical to many of the bands that emerged in the wake of the fading punk revolution. This heavy metal music, as it was called, was where Grell had found his niche. He had gloated to the others in the office when his signature maloik became a common sight during concerts, making his point that he had been far ahead of the times for the past hundred plus years, and yet no one respected him any more. And although a fan, Grell was just a little bitter that Mr. Ronnie James Dio was taking all the credit for popularizing it. Even through his bitterness though, he held that it was, in fact, Mr. Dio's doing, and not Mr. Gene Simmons.

Skulls were practically a requirement within the genre, so Grell had embraced this fact even more, now that the style of his glasses became current as well. He had even recently been known to sport jewelry with the same type of imagery upon it.

William was at least thankful that, even through some of the more unusual fashion trends, Grell had respected his face enough to refrain from acquiring any unusual piercings. Though that did not mean he had not relocated the disfiguring practice to other parts of his body. Or perhaps there were even tattoos. He shuddered at the thought.

Recently, Mr. Sutcliff had returned to a more professional look, yet he always made it completely his own. He had never been one to skimp on the details, and his outfits always consisted of high-quality pieces, but sometimes William worried that he was going to go too far. Right now, however, the red head sported a black t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the band Guns N' Roses which was partially concealed by the standard black suit of the average dispatcher. He also wore a pair of pointy-toed black leather boots. The head dispatcher was a little more low-key than usual today. This was probably a good thing considering their intended destination.

William made eye contact with him only briefly, nodding as he hastened past his co-worker's desk. Grell hopped out of his seat and skipped to catch up with his manager's quickened pace.

"Hello, William," he gushed, sliding easily into step just beside the stoic reaper and not so subtly brushing shoulders with him.

"Hello," he responded, curtly. "Were you overly busy today?" William had found that it was best to keep the conversation within the genre of inane small talk with this one. Too many details gave the latter too much leeway to pervert the conversation.

"If I had been, you'd have known about it."

Sometimes keeping the conversation out of dirty waters could be rather difficult.

William stared straight ahead, but could imagine the coy smile that played across his coworker's face, and the wink that accompanied it.

"So what's the deal, boss?" came Ronald's voice from behind.

"I don't have any details right now. That is why Mr. Cawley summoned us."

"Is someone in trouble?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"They're going to give you the sack, and they wanted all of your superiors there just to make the wounds that much more painful," Grell said as they walked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

Ronald rolled his eyes and huffed, pointing a finger into Grell's face. "That's not funny."

"No, it's not," William scolded, "Don't joke about such matters, Sutcliff."

Grell scoffed, letting it pass. He had been reprimanded and worse on far too many occasions for it to have an effect on him anyway.

The three men hurried down the hallway, heels clicking almost in step with one another against the white marble.

Aldo Cawley's office was, for the most part, isolated from the "busy" part of the building. The dispatch offices were usually a bustling maze of reapers shuffling between cubicles, fretting over reports and overdue paper work. The offices of the upper management were also quite busy, but the bustle was less conspicuous. There were not as many reapers running around like chickens with the heads lopped off, but the paperwork (and drama, it sometimes seemed), was more of a burden than on the dispatch floor. Besides Branch Manager, some of the other duties that were carried out on this floor were those such as Human and Reaper Resources, Death Scythe Management and Regulations, Record Keeping and Library Management, and the Incident Council, the latter of which Mr. Sutcliff had been all too familiar, especially after being temporarily sacked for his renegade days of hacking prostitutes into tiny bits.

There were several dispatch managers besides William that presided over different divisions of reapers in the dispatch office, but at this moment, he was in charge of the largest division. This was no doubt the reason that he seemed to be the only dispatch manager summoned here today.

He knocked three times on the large wooden door, but on the second knock, a modest voice sounded from behind it.

"Come in."

William opened the door, and took a moment to consider the man behind the desk before entering. He could think of nothing aside from ripping the loons behind him new arse holes if they were not on each his own best behavior. He quickly reconsidered the thought, and determined that it probably was not a very suitable punishment, as at least one of them would probably enjoy the experience. He hoped he would not have to resort to such measures in any case, as his colleagues should know better, the proper way to conduct themselves in the presence of upper management.

Aldo Cawley had been with the London branch for at least sixty years. He was on the younger end of reapers present in this office –William, himself, was well over a hundred years older– but in his human life, he had been taken at a more advanced age than most. His appearance was that of a man in his late forties or perhaps early fifties; no one was exactly certain. It was thought that he had died in some civilian attack on the British back during World War II, and perhaps his occasional, sympathetic nature was proof of this. However, he never spoke about his human life, as was generally the custom amongst reapers; many saw this immortal existence as a second chance, as a way to atone for the sins committed in his or her former life. Because of this, the past was not seen as a subject worth discussing. Not to mention, some reapers, in the enlightened wake of their revival as the creatures they became, found certain aspects about his or her past life could sometimes be rather embarrassing. Unlike vampires who arose with no memory of their former lives, this was seen as the true punishment of becoming a reaper. It was a reaper's duty to judge the lives of the dying, why not have one cold, hard look at their own before they moved on?

Right now though, Aldo sat stern behind his desk, his plump frame emitting the airs of a perfect gentleman. The apples of his cheeks pulled up into plump, rosy circles, his lips stretching into a weary smile as he beckoned them inside.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. I won't be keeping you long."

The three of them took seats around the room, William occupying the chair across from Mr. Cawley as Ronald and Grell got snug on the bench near the door.

"You are aware, William, as I see that you received my message, of the task I am giving your division." He looked up then, directing his next statement to the two reapers sitting on the bench. "I don't know if Mr. Spears has told you, but I am sending you on a little trip."

"A trip? To where?" Grell interjected, his voice gaining pitch at the prospect of seeing something other than the same pristine marble floors of the office and the decay of London. "The south of France, or maybe Italy? I would love to be someplace warm about now. Maybe there's going to be some major flood that wipes out the Bahamas. I'd go soul collecting for that opportunity."

William struggled to stifle a response to his colleague's rudeness, knowing that it would only reflect poorly on his character to display such temperament. Instead, his eyebrow twitched in aggravation.

Aldo chuckled. "No. Nowhere like that, I'm sorry to tell you. No, you'll be going to the U.S. for the next week. You leave tomorrow afternoon. Though, this time of year, it is still quite warm there, you'll be pleased to know."

Grell became serious again as he and Ronald looked at each other, puzzlement passing between them. Simultaneously, they turned toward Aldo.

"What's going on over there that they can't handle it themselves?" Ronald asked, not snidely, but seeming genuinely curious.

"I have not received too much information, as the offices asking for assistance did not send any records of any kind. They merely asked that any available dispatchers be sent over. The New York City offices are panicking. They are expecting a mass influx of souls to be collected, and although there are hundreds of reapers over there to do the job, the head management predicts that it won't be enough: not only in New York City but in Langley and the D.C. area as well. There are also some smaller offices in the middle of cow country that are asking for dispatchers. As our branch here in London is one of the biggest on the continent, we have been asked to assist, seeing as we can spare the man-hours for the time being. The offices in Dublin, Paris, and Madrid have also been called upon."

"What is this, some kind of disaster? Is there going to be a tidal wave that wipes out the whole of the east coast?" Ronald spoke, fired up at the prospect of some interesting work for once in a great while. "Perhaps a freak earthquake* of some kind?"

"I'm not entirely sure what it could be. You're going to be filled in when you get there. I am, however, splitting you up. William, I am sending you and the rest of your division to New York. You're management, they will respect your authority there. Not to mention they are the one office that contacted me that is going to need the most help."

William nodded solemnly. He was not one to question his superiors' logic.

"Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Knox, you two are close colleagues am I correct?"

Ronald nodded.

"You two are going together on this one. I'm sending you to the country."

Grell was ready to jump to his feet, a spitfire retort hot on the tip of his tongue, but Ron grabbed his bicep, holding him back.

"There's a small office there with only four reapers, and a couple of extra hands is all they need. Since, Mr. Sutcliff, you are the head dispatcher, meaning you are only one rank below Mr. Spears, you are in charge of this operation from our end."

"Unless there's a promotion in this for me, I hope there's a better reason for sending me to the middle of nowhere," he mumbled under his breath. Only Ron heard him coherently.

William turned around slowly in his seat, staring daggers at Grell. He stared back, his heart fluttering involuntarily. Oh, how William's eyes could send shivers through his body when he looked at him like that. It was like they were piercing right through him to his very core.

Whether Mr. Cawley had heard the snide remark or not, he did not address it. He began to speak again, and William revolved back around in his seat once more to face him.

"Mr. Spears, tomorrow morning, you are to go over with the rest of the dispatchers in your division, what we have discussed here today. I have flights booked for all of you to Philadelphia leaving at 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. You should get there around 5:30 pm Eastern time and you'll go your separate ways from there. There will be reapers from your expecting branch offices there to collect you when you arrive."

There were nods around the room.

"And boys, I sincerely wish for your safety. Please, do be careful. We have no idea what this incident entails. There could be forces out of your ability to handle, so take it easy and figure out what you're up against before pushing yourselves too far. Although we reapers are fairly durable, don't be reckless. But of course, you all know what you are capable of. I trust you'll do a good job."

"Thank you, Sir." William said, nodding courteously. "We should get our rest then, it seems we have a busy couple of days ahead of us."

"Indeed."

All four men stood then, the three subordinates each politely shaking Mr. Cawley's hand before turning to leave the room. Each of them nodded before stepping silently through the threshold.

"Please, do take the proper measures to prepare yourselves for tomorrow," William said once they were out in the hallway. "I don't want any delays holding us up. There are people counting on us, and we must uphold this office's high standards."

"I don't think some low-expectation Yanks are going to think any less of us if we show up with scuffs on our boot heels," Grell replied. Unlike Ronald, Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff had been around since the American colonies declared freedom from The Crown. Although it had been over two hundred years, sometimes when engaged in conversation, it was made more than obvious that bitter views on the matter were still being harbored toward the land of the "free."

"True or not, I will expect that you remain on nothing but your best behavior while you are off on your end of this job."

"Now William, how long have we known each other, and you don't trust me to keep decorum in a serious situation? I'm disappointed in you."

"I fail to see how that should concern me." He touched his glasses. Then, giving a curt nod, he turned on his heel. As he did so he added, "and pack light. You especially, Sutcliff."

With that, he hurried off down the hall, phasing out after only a few strides.

Author's Notes:

*freak earthquake - in August of 2011, the east coast did have 5.8 magnitude earthquake, which originated somewhere in Virginia. According to the New York Times, it could be felt as far north as Ottowa and as far south as South Carolina. I was one of the people that didn't even feel anything. I was disappointed. :3

I'm hoping this story does not offend anybody, although I know that the subject of 9/11 can touch a nerve with some people. However, it was a terrible thing that happened, and it did happen, and will forever be remembered for as long as there are humans living on this planet. For those of us who lived through it, it was probably one of the scariest days of our lives, whether you are an American or not. I saw Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close this past weekend, which was what inspired the idea for this fic. :3

Despite the fact that this first chapter seemed to be more focused on William, the reason I have marked this story as dealing with the characters of Grell and Ronald is because the story will soon follow their adventure in all this. If you have not guessed already, they are taking on the case of Flight 93; the plane that left from Boston, that was then hijacked, and was thought to have been targeting the White House or government building, except for the fact that the brave men and women on board risked their lives to save countless others and took the plane down in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The story of Flight 93 really hits home with me because it went down about 30 miles east of where I live. When I was ten, knowing that made me kind of proud, and I am still kind of proud, not because I want to be all, "oh I'm cool by association," but because whenever I think about what those people went through, I am in awe of their bravery, and I tear up every time. I'm doing it right now actually. lol

Anyway, on to more trivial matters, I had fun exploring the possibilities of Grell's interests in modern pop culture, which is why I spent so much time coming up with a back story to his character for this story. I'm not sure if Yana Toboso came up with him based off of hard rock culture, but it was too perfect an opportunity to miss, especially since I have been an enthusiast of this kind of music for a long time and could not help but notice the similarities. For instance, although Grell does not have "big hair" I can see him fitting in well with some of the hair bands from the 80's. And his hand gesture? The Maloik? Yes, that is what it is called. It is the Italian symbol of the evil eye. Look it up if you want specific details about the superstitions behind it. Besides the image of hair metal or hard-rock in general I also think he fits in because he is always claiming himself an actress, and a lot of bands at the time were all about putting on a show. Some good examples I can think of right now are bands like Gwar, Mötley Crüe, Twisted Sister and artists like Alice Cooper.

I'm not sure where I am taking this story in the next chapter, but I am hoping to keep this story to only a few chapters; like only four or five at the most. And if you want to know ahead of time, I will not be going into detail about any individual deaths themselves, so you can breathe easy. I know that I can be a little graphic sometimes when I get into it, but I am trying to write this fic with the utmost respectful attitude possible, so I will not be going that route. I feel a little disrespectful already just for having the fictional characters from a manga and the events of 9/11 together in one story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!