AN: Hohoo, my first fan fiction idea, which had ended up been written down. As all of my ideas, this was born as a lucky coincident of several things (I happened to read a bit of 'The Thanatos Initiative' by The Chainsaw Juliet same week as my room-mate read an article about the people preparing for the end of the Mayan calendar in her pronunciation exam. So the credit for those who it belongs). I don't have any idea where this'll lead to; I have only some basic ideas in my mind. As most of the writers, I'm quite blind to my own errors (*cough*, army green cauliflowers, *cough*), so bear with me. All possible errors and irrationalities will be corrected immediately after I found them.

Disclaimer: I own only the plot and OCs. Everything else belongs to a creative mastermind, known as Yana Toboso. *bows deeply*

Warning: May occasionally contain a bit of violence, depending on how sadistic I'll become while writing this. Not yaoi. You are warned.

Chapter 1: Overtime

William leaned back in his dark office chair and raised his eyes to the white ceiling with an exhausted sigh. Fatigue and frustration were clear on his face as he slowly lowered his gaze to the mess that has almost imperceptibly conquered his desk during the past couple of weeks. Sighing again, he adjusted his glasses and began to sort out the flood of the papers into several stacks.

Really, what on earth are they thinking, he thought surly. 35 Reapers for over 8 million human. They have to be joking. That's practically impossible. Practically. That was the loophole they had used to justify keeping him understaffedfor as long as he could remember. When he had pointed out that he had only 28 full-timers, they had just told him that they had faith on him and that the situation couldn't really be as bad as he insisted. After he had remarked, politely, that the London had grown since the number of staff had been previously checked and that they already worked at their limits, they gave him six Reapers for the duration of the current situation and showed some statistics stating that he should be more than fine with that.

He straightened one of the stacks a bit more briskly than necessary. I don't know where the hell they get those statistics, but I have a pretty good idea where they can put-

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He straightened slightly, breathed deep checking his outfit and made sure to wipe his face expressionless. "Come in."

The door opened and a tall brunette stepped in balancing a thick pile of paper in her right hand and a cup of coffee in the left. "Almost everyone is already here, sir," she said putting the cup on the varnished surface of the desk, which had just been discovered under the papers. "I thought you would need this."

"Thank you, Miss Whitman."

"Here are the papers for the consent to extend the working hours." She flipped through the pile in her hand, divided it in two and gave the smaller part to him. "And these are the copies of the Main Branch's instructions you asked," she put the rest on the corner of the table. "Would you need anything else?" she asked glancing at the already partly straightened mess.

William also eyed it and a hint of irritation creep back at his face. "Would you please ask Misters Eliot, Bayley, Miller, Wells and Reilly here?"

"Yes, of course."

"Shit!" he muttered under his breath glancing at his wristwatch. I'm already late! Will will kill me for sure! And with that he sprinted towards the Dispatch Division's wing.

After almost five minutes of running (who the hell designs buildings of this size?) he finally dashed through the door into the main room and collapsed into his chair panting violently.

"I hope it was worth running," a voice from his left said.

He raised his head to see Eric grinning at him.

"I…. I…."he waved his hand trying to control his breath.

"Hmm, Ronald," Alan said leaning past Eric. "You have something on your face." He touched his own cheek. "There."

"And on your neck," Eric added grinning even wider.

Ronald looked puzzled and rubbed his cheek. To his horror he realised it was pink lipstick.

"It actually suits you," continued Eric.

Ronald just scowled at him and kept on rubbing. "Is it off?"

Alan tilted his head a little and looked at him thoughtfully. "It's hard to say. Now your whole cheek is red. But at least no-one can distinguish it from your skin."

Ronald had finally starting to get some kind of control over his breath, so he could start to pay more attention for his surroundings. "At least I wasn't the only one late," he pointed out referring to five empty tables in the otherwise crowded room.

"No, only you were late," Alan said. "They're already in William's office."

Ronald let his glance go again around the room to check who were missing. There was only two reasons one would be invited into the dragon's den: either to get the lousiest assignments one could possible imagine, which usually meant lots of overtime, or to get an earful for screwing up the said job, which in turn always meant overtime. Reilly's chaotic desk was empty, and Eliot and Miller were nowhere to be seen… It seemed that all of the absent five were the most seasoned ones from the Division. In fact, if you would have added Eric and Grell, you would have had a list of all Reapers with over 200 years' experience.

A man with auburn curly hair waved at him across the room. Ronald waved back to Attlee, who had been transferred from the Dispatch to the General Affairs almost 70 years ago. This must be something huge, 'cause they've got everyone with some amount of experience. Something like this hadn't happened since WWII. He glanced across the room at Grell spinning in his office chair filing his nails and remembered how he had spent the war. Just as the war had started, he had been in a long-term relationship, so ending up God knows where for God knows how long didn't seemed so appealing. So, he had steeled himself and went to ask Will, if it would be possible to get an assignment which wouldn't mean spending weeks at the request had been followed by a long silence. He didn't had the foggiest idea of what went through his supervisor's head, but he had been sure he would get a harangue about evading work and been send to the middle of nowhere. But for his shock William had just smiled a little and told he would see what he could do. And he had really held up his end. While all the others had been assigned to fieldwork, he had gotten to stay in the office. Sure, it was dull and he had to look after some inexperienced Reapers, who would have just got themselves killed if been sent out there, but all in all it shouldn't have been that bad. Only thing was that as a sign of his twisted sense of humour, Will had also assigned Grell to stay at the office. And where Ronald saw office work as necessary evil, Grell utterly loathed it. He shuddered for the memory. In the end, he had just ended up to make sure Grell didn't traumatised newbies too much.

God help me if he does that again. He didn't know what was happening, actually nobody seemed to got a clue, but one thing was sure: this would definitely mean over time.

After the meeting with the group leaders, it was finally time to inform the rest of the Division. William wasn't practically excited about that. Main Branch had advised all the management personnel to refrain from charring information with employees before the official announcement. He understood that the secretiveness had created rumours, but so far no-one knew anything more than that something big was going to happen. It was understandable that the management didn't want to announce it to everyone: as radical decision as this was sure to arouse objection. And later they would get to know about it, less time they would have to hinder the process. But even though he understood the reason, it didn't mean he would approve them. But because he hadn't any better solution to offer, he kept his mouth shut.

The conversation died the moment they returned to the main room. He could almost feel all the inquisitive looks. Everyone's attention was turned towards him. Good, I'm not going to say this twice.

"In six days there will be massive spike in the quantity of the souls to be inspected," he started. "We do not yet know how long this spike will last, so some precautions had been made to ensure that things go as smoothly as possible. First of all, everyone will be staying onduty until the Personnel Department states otherwise." He ignored the horrified expressions and the moaning coming mainly from Knox, who had slumped over his desk. "Secondly, to optimise the time usage, all the Dispatch officers are divided into groups. Each group will be responsible for the inspections in the area of its own. Each group will also be living in the area in a place provided by the General Affairs Department." Now all the objection were turned into a shocked silence. He struggled slightly to keep his face expressionless. "And lastly, to keeps things flowing, everyone is asked to limit his trips between the Reaper Realm and the Human World to the absolute minimum."

"What the fuck is this?!" One of the younger Reapers who was the first one to get back his voice and ability to move bounced up from his chair. "Why in hell haven't we been told about this before? Are we some fucking slaves?"

William met the protester's eyes. He could feel the irritation building inside him and some of it managed to creep to his face. For five seconds the other hold his gaze, but then the surface of the table suddenly become very fascinating and slowly he slumped back to his chair. "I would like Mr Taylor to mind his tongue in the office. However, what comes to his interjection, these are only orders I've received from the Main Branch. I would recommend you to give any possible feedback directly to them."

For a while nobody dared to say anything. William did his best trying not to reveal his own discomfort. Finally, Eric was the first to break the silence: "What's amount of souls we are talking about?"

"The total number is not clear yet, but estimates for the couple of first weeks in the London area are from 500 to over 6000 every day."

"Every day? What the hell is going to happen that daily kills over 6000 people a day?"

"We not have the whole picture yet, but it is seems to be partially natural, partially social global disaster. It'll affect all the branches around the world."

They looked each other astonished and William knew the feeling: it sounded much like the end of the world.

"The places of residence are made to last most of the disasters one can imagine." 'Most of', how assuring. "The General Affairs also provides all the basic necessities; you need to take only your personal belongings with you. But remember you have to be able to carry them by yourself. A list of things you may find useful to take is provided in the official instructions your group leaders will give to you. Now, after I've announced the groups and their areas, discuss with your group leaders about the details of your assignment." He dug a neatly folded paper from his breast pocket and adjusted his glasses. He had spent several sleepless nights working on it. Better now than at the field.

"The first group's leader is Mr Eliot. His group members are Misters Kingsley, Clarkson, Taylor, Powell and Messer. Their area consists of the boroughs of Brent, Ealing, Hounslow, Harrow, Hillingdon and Richmond upon Thames. The second group…" He kept reading the list, which caused different reaction depending how satisfied they were about the group divisions.

"And finally the sixth group, which will be mine," he read, "includes Misters Slingby, Humphries, Sutcliff and Knox." He didn't have to look to know who the excited squeal belonged to. "Our area is composed of the boroughs of City of London, the City of Westminster, Kensington and Chelsea, Hammersmith and Fulham, Tower Hamlets, Hackney, Islington and Camden. From here on your group leaders will be advising you in any problems you may have. Now if anyone doesn't have anything to add, you are all dismissed."

It was three days for the start of the official state of emergency. William stood at the one of the narrow alleys of the Whitechapel. Knox had surprisingly been the first one to arrive, and now he just stood there, bored, poking slush with his shoe. The mood at the alley was anything but cheerful. Neither of them had spoken in several minutes. Others hadn't come yet. Alan and Eric were coming straight from the shift so they had told they would be late, but Sutcliff…He and Knox seemed to form a law of nature: they couldn't both be at the right place at the right time.

And speaking of the devil, a familiar voice drifted around the nearest street corner: "Hmph, proper gentlemen would help a lady with her luggage."

"Sorry, but the order was that you have to be able to carry all the things you take," said Alan smile audible in his voice as he, Grell and Eric stepped around the corner. William raised his brows seeing the amount of packages Grell was dragging. Where the others had just a few bags, he had taken one big red suitcase, a backpack and at least three smaller bags. He noticed the look William was giving him and shuffled at him flashing a flirtatious smile and ran his hand on his chest. "I may be stuck here for months with your boys, so why not take advantage of it?"

"So where exactly are we going to stay?" Eric asked ignoring Grell's remark.

William peeled Grell's hand off and pulled a bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. "Third door on right."

The doors were painted green as the contrast for the red brick wall. William selected an old-fashioned key and opened the correct one leading them into a small deserted apartment. It only consisted of a kitchen, a living room and a tiny bedroom with a bathroom next to it. While Grell struggled with his suitcase and the threshold, William walked to the bedroom.

On the far side of the room there was a door seeming to lead into a walk-in closet. But when he opened it, there weren't empty selves, but an army green steel door.

Ronald peeked in. "Someone seems to have more than just skeletons in their closet."

"This was originally a secret base for the intelligence during the Cold War. The number for the lock is 9473," William told while rolling the numbers to the panel at the door. It made a soft click and when he pushed the handle, it opened squeaking slightly in to a dark stairway. After a bit of fumbling he found the switch and a weak pale light illuminated the cold concrete steps.

"It has of course been renovated since then. We have our own generator, pluming and air condition, so we're not depending on the outside world. It has been designed to quarter seven intelligence officers, so the room should not be a problem." He reached the end of the stairs and was welcomed by a grey concrete hallway with three plane wood doors on each side of it.

"Cosy," Eric stated behind him. He knew they were thinking the same thing.

He, Knox and Eric walked into the kitchen area at the end of the hallway while Alan stayed behind to keep the door for Grell. The same shades of grey and brown were repeated all around the bunker. Only things that seemed to be from this century were the coffee machine, the fridge-freezer combination and the water can.

"It's heart-warming to see how much effort they have put into the decoration," Eric said eyeing the flower-patterned tablecloth someone had put on the kitchen table.

There was a stream of curses and a loud thud from the stareway. Sutcliff had apparently dripped to his heels. The door squeaked as Alan finally let go for it.

"Good bye, freedom," Ronald mumbled as the door thumped shut.