Green eyes watched unsuspecting targets that wandered along the bland, grey streets like busy bees unaware of the wasp about to stir the nest. They were blissfully oblivious to the danger right over their heads.
For a predator, it was the perfect meal.
Grell Sutcliff stood atop a building only a few blocks from his destination. Two buildings seemed to stand higher than any other, gleaming in the early morning sunrise. It was the calm before the storm.
He snickered at the unsuspecting victims that surrounded him like a herd of swine being lead to slaughter. Their bland, monotonous lives compared to his own were practically worthless. There was no one special to be investigated this time; there was nothing to worry about except for the steel prison they'd be trapped inside...alone with swarms of demons. To think, he went across the sea to this disgusting city filled with the rats of humans just to reap their pitiful, greedy souls. Then again, he wasn't alone.
Two reapers stood behind them, newer trainees of the branch sent to assist him and his partner for this particular assignment.
Two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-six souls to reap and less than twelve hours to reap them all.
They were dreadfully understaffed back in London, but it seemed as if two reapers from every Dispatch in the world would be joining them for this reap, and it was obvious that this mass of Grim Reapers would be needed far more than any reinforcements in England at the time. The trainees: Baxter Hodgings and Francis Dana were only a few months out of their final exams, and he highly doubted they were equipped for carnage of this size.
He felt himself getting excited, his fingertips itching at the thought of the screams and the blood that would be spilt today. All of those souls and all of that suffering in one place…it was his ecstasy. A small chuckle and hum of amusement fell from his pursed lips.
"Sutcliff-senpai? Are you all right?" Baxter stepped forward, his dirty blond hair hanging over one eye and his sledgehammer tightly held in his left hand.
"Oh, just fine, darling~ Why wouldn't I be~?" he cooed, looking back at the two as he placed a hand on his hips and twirled a strand of his crimson tresses with a sly expression. His gaze fell upon Baxter and the axe-wielding reaper named Francis, meeting their equally worried expressions. "Surely, you aren't getting cold feet, are you~?"
"N-no," he stuttered, gaze falling before he swallowed and soon gained the courage to speak again after several awkward moments of hesitant silence. "Do you enjoy this job, Sutcliff-senpai?"
"Oh, honey~" he giggled, pressing his glove-clad fingertips to his lips before blowing the cute little blonde a kiss. "I wouldn't trade it for the world."
"You aren't guilty for ending the lives of these souls?" Francis stepped forward, slinging her axe over her shoulder to rest the butt of the blade against her shoulder. "Would they still die if we didn't reap their souls?"
Grell rolled his eyes—typical greenies. "Their lives are irrelevant. The sooner you realize they have no meaning, the easier your job will be. Maybe someday you'll become as deadly~ efficient as me~!" With a swirl as he trailed off from his sentence with a high coo, he ended in his classic pose, eyes half lidded and chains swinging from the spin that came to a sudden stop in front of the two new recruits.
Both fell silent as they looked at the twin towers only a few blocks away. "Isn't it terrible that so many people have to die?"
The redhead's grin faded as he huffed and crossed his arms. They weren't getting the message! "Darlings~ just get those stupid little thoughts out of your heads. They're disturbing my deadly aura!"
"B-but-!"
"Honestly, but nothing. Mr. Sutcliff has a point, Mr. Hodgings…Miss Dana. Despite his impetuosity and lack of regard for personal space, it will do you both good to use him as an example of a Dispatch Officers' attitude. It is that attitude you should strive to achieve, should you wish to live very long at all."
Grell's cheeks heated up at the sight of the cold, deadly-efficient man coming his way. Oh, how he loved the sight of that form trapped in the confines of a tight suit that didn't leave much to the imagination. His lashes fell halfway, batting slightly against the lens of his glasses as he swooned. "Oh~! Will~! Nice of you to join the party, darling~!"
A twitch of the eyebrow was his only response as William T. Spears turned, facing the new recruits and keeping a distance from the madman nearby. "Keep this thought in mind as you work loyally today and represent the name of the London Dispatch: 'You will not survive long if you let your emotions play a role in your job'."
With a smirk, Grell managed to cozy up to his handsome supervisor, leaning into his side and coyly sliding a hand down his chest to fiddle with the buttons of his blazer. "Mmm~ He's right, you know~. You'll get yourself killed in the process the longer you think like that~! Then again, if you do, you are better off dead anyhow. We have no time for…dramatics." His lips broke into a chilling, Cheshire grin, eyes narrowing halfway in an expression that caused the novices' blood to run cold. A sadistic expression of a cold-hearted murderer was plain as day, and each of them fidgeted nervously in their own unique ways.
"You're one to talk, Sutcliff," William muttered, moving his shoulder and causing the red nuisance to fall off and stumble behind him in an attempt not to fall. "If I recall correctly, it was you who proclaims to be an actor. Such dramatics seem to be a part of your daily life."
"Oh, don't be so chilly, Willy~" he giggled, regaining his balance and flicking his hand downward as if to wave off the jab. "At least I can hold my own when it starts to get a little…rough~"
The ravenette adjusted his glasses, sighing as his sight was set on the two towers nearby that would be the cause of not only the loss of many lives, but a change economically and politically for the country in which they'd been transferred to for the daylight hours. They were scheduled to reap until eight that evening sharp, and any other deaths afterward would be given to the American Dispatch to deal with.
William exhaled deeply, stretching out his hand to summon the long, metal pole that appeared almost instantly in his hand. He closed his palm around the familiar extension of himself, ignoring the giggle that filled his left ear. A weight pressed against his side, and a hand slyly played with a strand of his black, slicked back hair.
"How romantic~! It's been forever since we went on such an assignment together~!" Grell crooned, batting his eyelashes at the other. "Ahn~! The suffering screams of dying souls shall be the melodramatic tune to our tragedy~! Won't it be spectacular~?"
"Spectacular?" muttered the supervisor, ignoring the flirtacious attitude of his coworker as he stood patiently, waiting for the main event to begin. He looked at his watch.
Only four more minutes…
"Looking at your watch, huh? You must be anxious for our little play date together~!"
"I am simply making sure that all is as written in our itinerary. It is only polite to reap the souls in a timely fashion, naturally," he replied coolly, fidgeting with his tie for a moment.
Grell rolled his eyes, instead turning his attention to the massing of suits on rooftops nearby, all prepared to leap forward at the right moment. He vaguely wondered just how many Shinigami had shown up for such a massive, dangerous reaping. Surely there had to be more than fifty or so of them all together.
He grinned from ear to ear, humming to himself with growing mirth, and his body crawled with tingling nerves. There hadn't been so many handsome men in one place since he was tasked with the reaping of World War II…
Just the thoughts of such a marvelously bloody event made his body grow hot, cheeks rivaling the color of his hair as it was hard to sit still and not press a little more against his favorite dark figure in the whole world. Oh, he'd give anything to go back and time and frolic in the pools of crimson and dead, decaying bodies. It was the screams of those massacred that was like a music box melody to his ears.
He ran a tongue over his painted lips, watching William's watch twitch forward with every second passed, itching to race forward and finally bathe in this reverie. And when it struck at 8:46, and the sound of a plane engine finally caught his attention, a shrill of laughter burst from his lungs, eyes wide in his skull.
All at once, black forms raced toward their target of the two towering figures in New York City, pouring into the streets and jumping from building to building like crickets in a forest of grass.
Grell's bubbly laughter sent chills down the spines of those who heard it (minus his dark prince of death), and he summoned his favorite playtoy, reveling in the roar of the engine and spinning teeth of the massive blade. In a blur of red, he matched William's lunge and pace step-by-step, making sure not to fall behind. As he ran, he looked to his right, meeting his superior's gaze for a brief moment, and the tie of friendship and dependence on one another was evident, regardless of the expressions visible to anyone else, save for each other.
They both accepted that it would take the both of them to stay alive in the trap they were recklessly jumping into...a metal trap that would be filled with more than just dying, human souls. Despite William's cool, level-headed demeanor, and Grell's overbearing recklessness, they both understood that working alone would be a signed death warrant.
They cast aside any past differences in that exchanged glance, and then focused on the chance at hand, both leaping from the nearest building toward the Twin Towers just as the first plane hit.