Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji


A carriage carrying several crates arrived two hours after Alan had gotten ready for the day; horses stomped their hooves and flung their heads. Green eyes were wide and wild, they were growing antsy by simply standing there, some moved slightly in their place but were whipped out of misdemeanor and were quieted so suddenly. Alan flinched slightly at the crack of a whip that Ivan, a well known delivery boy for the Dispatchers. His scythe was, to go with his handling of animals, a bullwhip attached with a sharp blade at the tip. He was rough around the edges but even rougher on the inside. Gaining respect from him was hard, even for William, though he softened up for Alan. It was probably because of the Thorns of Death that made Alan gain more privileges than most. He hated the special treatment.

"...and the last of the shipment have arrived from France, Spain, Germany, and...I believe Romania," Ivan informed him,"you just need to return them to me when your done, alright?" Alan nodded. "Not that hard to do. See? Well, I'll catch you later Alan." The American reaper clambered up into the carriage and snapped the reins, clucking his tongue. "Walk up!"

With a whine and snort, the horses hauled the carriage away from the loading dock. Several other reapers came by and assisted Alan in carrying the crates inside, he took his own crate and fallowed them to the Sorting Department. There, Samantha had switched positions for the month and was at the desk where she confiscated Cinematic Records. While her task was to search them for any complications (torn spines, loose strips, fading ink), she would only sort them to their destined bookkeeping by date. Her dainty hands rifled through the pages and tossed the books to waiting reapers that walked away with their affects.

Alan's turn in line came and he placed the crate on to her desk. "Here, imported from four countries."

Samantha sipped from a mug for her coffee while gaining a breather. She was one of the international reapers in the London Division of the Dispatchers that spoke most of the languages in Europe, therefore, her position of being a Sorting Receptionist to being a translator for meetings varied every so often. It wasn't surprising for one to find the brunette reaper being at the Registration Department one day and then find her at the Communications Department the next. Settling her mug down, she looked up at him from her seat with a bored, exhausted expression. "What are they?"

"Spain, Germany, France, and Romania."

"The Divisions there? Why are you asking for them? You can't even read a word in those languages!"

He smiled at her brightly. "That's why I need you."

"Well, I'm bust right now, Alan...why not get Stucliff? The freak knows French...and Spears, I think he speaks a bit of German. Alan, exactly what are you doing with these Cinematic Records? Make it quick."

"It's classified information." That was a half lie. It wasn't really classified if everyone knew and ignored, but the people that were involved, well, that part was classified from the other reapers. The lady wanted to laugh at him, her eyes changed from bored to amused. "Hm? Stop laughing, this is serious!"

"Serious? Ha!" She leaned on her desk, chin resting on a gloved hand. "Alan, those countries' Departments are being under watch by us, you know. The Paris Division is growing smaller thanks to those angels judging souls; the Berlin Division is going up in flames because of disorder; the Madrid Division is falling to pieces since there are reapers actually committing suicide for god knows what; and the Bucharest Division has already gone to hell with their vampire problem! Those countries have the worst Divisions I've ever heard of!"

"...well, I'm getting a feeling that we'll be falling apart soon ourselves, we just aren't noticing the difference," Alan retorted. Samantha gave him a doubting look. "Don't make that face at me, I assure you. Had you seen Lacey? He claims to be left handed, he has been for as long as I've known him! And he suddenly became right handed a few days ago!"

There were a few impatient reapers behind him, waiting. "Can you hurry up? ! We don't have all eternity to wait here!" cried a man.

But Alan ignored him. "And then there's Evan. He never had a single spelling error in his reports and was always grammatically correct! He was a functioning worker until last month, he got demoted and now he's a lazy glutton-"

"Alan! I get it!" Samantha nearly shouted, beginning to become irritated, he stopped his developing rant. "So what if they changed! We're stuck here for eternity! You'll see us change to try to get a different taste in life, my god, can't you learn something from humans? We were ones too! Fine." Her hands were up in the air in defeat. "I'll help you translate these Cinematic Records later, alright? There's no need to drag yourself with those books down here. I'll meet you in your office when my shift is done. If you don't mind, you just created a mile of reapers that I now have to sort individually."

He turned around to see numerous reapers scowling at him, he said aloud,"I'm sorry, it's just important!" Among them was Lacey, who carried a clipboard and a Cinematic Record tucked under arm. "You're right handed now, I know it."

"What are you talking about? I've always been left handed!" Alan gathered his books and stormed passed him, ignoring the jeers from the others and shooting him a sharp, scorning glare. The partying reaper shook his head with a sigh and wrote down a note onto his clipboard with his right hand.

-...-

Grell found himself situated in the Infirmary. He was in a half drowsed state, barely remembering what happened the night or day before. It was like that time again in that gray room when he felt disoriented. Was that part the dream or reality? He blinked slowly. His mind was too scrambled to think rationally. Shit, damn Undertaker...or was it Will? Ronald? Someone. He knew he was under the effects of a drug when he spotted an ivy bag attacked to a hook on a pole near his head. His eyes blinked once more and he saw William sitting by, a clipboard in hand along with a pen in another, scribbling down on the paper madly.

"...Will?..." His voice was dry and he could barely breathe, like something was choking him. "Will?"

The superior looked up from his work to observe Grell. Instantly, he took a sheet of paper and clipped it over the report he was working on. Grell stared at him, not being fully awake but willing do listen to whatever he said. "Write." Grell sat up slowly, he was given a fountain pen. "Report your mission to me."

"Huh?" he asked in a dumb manner, looking at the pen as though it were a foreign object. Again, William repeated,"Report your mission to me and then I'll let you have the entire day off." Grell eyed him weakly then stared down at the page in front of him. It was blank.

"There's no...lines...not even a-"

"Just write. Write whatever you can." The red reaper's hand began to unconsciously write across the page, dragging the tip of the pen across in a fancy penmanship. "Whatever you can remember."

Even dreams? He continued to write, but his hand seemed to move accordingly to his thoughts. William watched him for a few minutes as he struggled to write and got up. "You keep writing, fresh ink and paper are on the nightstand if you need it. I need to go check on something." Grell gave him a quick, sleepy nod and continued to write as William closed the double doors. Once in the hallway, he strode down quickly and arrived at his office. He found Undertaker sitting on his desk, happily eating a boned cookie. "Of course you would come here."

"I appreciate you making these cookies," he chuckled at him,"my feelings about you earlier are now gone. You're starting to learn my likes, aren't you? Heh heh." He chomped at the bone and chewed on it. "Well? Any development?"

"He just woke up," Willam answered, adjusting his glasses,"about the Cinematic Rip, you said that one nearly chewed Knox's soul inside out. Is there any chance that you have it?"

Undertaker held one pointed finger up, a bone tucked between the folded ones, and grinned at him. "Now, a first rate laugh for me and I'll tell you about it." William gave him a bored look. "...or perhaps no? Heh...you're a tough man to get to, you know? Stop being so stiff." He put his urn and cookie on to the desk and reached towards one of the many pendants on his chain. One pendant, in particular, was a locket and it opened instantly. A pair of nails extracted a wriggling strip of a Cinematic Rip, he gave a disdained laugh at it as it tried to escape his nails. "I, myself, hadn't gotten a good look at the Rip myself but there are many more that could tell what happened."

A blank piece of parchment laid on the desk, Undertaker took it and pressed the swirling Rip onto it until it suddenly snaked into it. The parchment glowed white slightly and a click resounded from the sheet as a short clip began to play in front of them. William neared closer to gain a better perspective, only, there was an earsplitting scream resounding from it. Immediately, the two covered their ears and shut their eyes out of the pain; Undertaker thrust his hand on to it and yanked the Rip out from the sheet.

It squirmed in his pinch but was returned to his locket and stowed away instantly. "Not what I'd expect from a Rip. William, had you ever seen a Rip before?"

"I've heard of the term but never had a chance to practice with them."

"I'll tell you," he smiled to him,"it's a Cinematic Record that has basically been edited. It's like you extract the parts you find worse in a life and just leave it lying on the floor. Now, those parts could be various things in life but the issue is, they only contain the emotions of a person. Emotions and memories are entwined with one another, without memories...the Cinematic Record can never exist for a soul and without the emotions it causes, there would be no way for the memories to be contained in. So Cinematic Rips are when memories are wiped away but the emotions are left...leaving only a skeleton of a Cinematic Record and causing the emotions to take physical form and wander about.

"That scream we heard, it was probably an emotion causing a reaction. Cinematic Rips also contain the person's thoughts as well. When this was lodged in the young lamb's throat, I suppose he was lucky to have been touched by a scream rather than a malicious emotion. Lord knows what damage that would do to his soul." He ended with a bite to his bone. "There's more, but that's the basics of it."

William nodded in understanding. "What if we insert that into a reaper?"

"It would only work if the memories match the emotions of the Rip." His bangs shuffled, indicating he was lifting an eyebrow in interest. "I suspect Grell will be a test subject to this."

"He seems to be the only reliable one to use, he's not wearing his important glasses."

Undertaker's shoulders dropped, his lips twitched and then formed a snarl. He growled,"I thought I told you to stop with the rules. Simply because he fails to wear his glasses does not mean you can subject him to such cruelty. You can easily damage his soul if you inject him with the wrong Rip! His memories will attempt to merge with separate emotions and he'll be damaged faster than you can say the rules of this damned place!"

"Am I the cruel one?" William asked coldly. "You never had the sense to bring Grell to the Infirmary until he began to spew his innards all over myself. Your cruelty is just as worse-"

"Souls can be harder to fix than bodies, you fool! You were possibly one of the worse students I could have ever mentored!" He got down from his seat on the desk and grabbed his urn, tucking it within his robes. They were dried a an hour before and had now become stiff as though they were coated with starch. He began to leave the room. "Grell is lucky for me to have the Rip and not you, until you find me proof that the Rips belong to him you will never see the Rips all!" He slammed the door to William's office hard enough to cause several shelves in the bookcases to tremble. William sighed and calmly walked over to the door, opening it to see Undertaker had gone off and was gone.

He slowly made his way to the Infirmary, rubbing his temple in frustration. He opened one of the double doors to see Grell asleep on his pillow. He was reclined back and was snoring slightly. William saw several papers scattered on the floor and picked them up.

A tiny smirk creased his normally firm lips. So he did remember a couple things.

-...-

"Do you need anything else, Ronald?" Samantha asked him, it was nearing the end of the day and night shifters were beginning to make their appearances with overtime workers. He shook his head. "Alright, you brought this soul back in good condition and-" Her fingers suddenly ran through his hair, he hissed in pain. "You got a bump on your head, you might want to get that checked out."

He smirked,"Nah, I'm fine!" He took his book and turned away. He stumbled slightly and staggered, immediately, Samantha stood up from her seat and went to his side to support him. "No, really, I am."

"Ronald, how long have you had that bump on your head? I need to take you to the Infirmary...you're lucky that you were the last one in line and that I take notice of these things!" she chided him, ushering him to the Infirmary a few halls down from where she was stationed. Despite his protests, she continued to gently push him to her desired destination and opened the door. Inside, William sat on a chair next to a familiar looking redhead. They shuffled by him, though Samantha stole a glance to see Grell sleeping soundly in his bed. She put Ronald at a bed next to Grell's and scuttled off. "I'll go get a nurse, you, sit here! My god..."

When she was gone, William looked up from the assortment of paper he was reviewing countless times. Ronald was looking back at him with a vex expression, as if he were a child not wanting to taste a bit of medicine; the facial appearance made him look a bit boyish. The blond set his book on to the table and sighed,"Well, Mr. Spears, did Undertaker finally decide to get Grell here?...Did you find out what happened?"

"Not really, but allow me to start with the first question. Only fourteen hours later, you decide to come here now instead of then despite the injury on your head, I can clearly see it from where I sit. You're just as reckless as the old man, not taking personal care of yourself and all. I chose you for my team because you were independent. Now the only issue I see in you is you asking whether someone else is alright while not taking proper time you care for your own self." It was a flat out insult, but William only elaborated it to make it the kind to be read in between the lines. "Honestly, do not be like Undertaker. Sure, you can strive to do what his actions were but not him in personality. God knows how I can manage another Sutcliff."

"Maybe you wouldn't be handling him if you took the time to actually care for him. And besides, having concern for others rather than yourself is selflessness! It's a human emotion and you are-"

Before the conversation could escalate into a full blown argument, a nurse squeezed herself between them, prompting William to edge away in his chair to give her room. "Stop moving and let me check your head," she instructed, a hand going to Ronald's cheek to cup it. Samantha came by, waving at him, he looked at her, only to have his head sharply turned upwards to face the nurse. "I said stay still." He grumbled in response and reluctantly complied. William's attention was averted back to the papers. One was laid out on the nightstand and he stole a peek at it to read a few words:

'And I found myself in my office after the dream...or was it a vision?' He was cut off from reading when the nurse looked over her shoulder.

"And Mr. Spears," the nurse said, she took out a pill dispenser from her apron as she turned around to face him completely,"the doctor ran some tests on this. It is actually a drug that we, in this Division, don't prescribe to anyone. This is too powerful of a pain reliever and can be addicting, it's the equivalent of morphine for humans. Where did he get such a thing? I thought the Council banned it from use." There were many drugs that were developed and banned over the course of time because of its adverse effects on the performance and lifestyles of reapers.

"What is this one called? I'm not familiar with medications."

"Scarlet. It's powerful enough to actually heal our problematic eyesight. However, in return, it disables our ability to see Cinematic Records. For that, that's why it was banned at least three hundred years ago. The main use of it was to actually heal fast while temporarily blocking out any memory of the event that the injury had occurred, of course, that doesn't really help in fights against demons, now does it?"

-...-

The ticking of a clock relaxed him as he waited for Samantha to enter through his door after a knock. And so, a few moments later, she did so. "Come in," he said, and she did as well. The four books were on his desk, waiting to be translated by her. She took a seat in front of him and opened the French book. "These are Cinematic Records of reapers," Alan explained as she scanned through it,"all four them are dead though."

"Considering they're from ruined Divisions, I'm not actually caring whether they are dead or not. They could all rot in Hell for all I care for." She placed it down and looked at another one. "Why are you investigating these ones anyway?"

"There's been an increase in Cinematic Rips in various parts of London. Why they appear here and not there is what I'm concerned about. I was hunting for souls until I encountered each of these and listened to them on paper, I heard the languages and recognized them to be German, French, Spanish, and Romanian. I sent for back up to help contain these Rips and looked over them further, from there I found the names of the reapers who owned the Rips. Of course, I had to wait two full months for the reaper's Cinematic Records to arrive and now here they are."

Samantha's fingers traced the German Cinematic Record and pulled a strip to watch it for her amusement. "Had you read Ronald's report? He states that there was a Cinematic Rip in London just earlier this morning. It attacked him, how did you get to handle those Rips on your own?"

Alan shrugged and leaned back in his swivel chair, leg folding over another. He was watching her intently, trying to see the slightest change in her already exasperated face. "It was the Thorns of Death, I guess...Rips couldn't exactly take affect on someone whose soul is already claimed by an illness. I've watched the ending for each Cinematic Record of those reapers, and they all share a similar ending to their lives. A woman humming and them being whisked away somewhere, it's the same for all four of them." His hands were folded on his stomach in a polite manner, he was smiling at her like he was the receptionist and she was the reaper he was attending to. "And she looks rather familiar. Pray tell, I know you're an international reaper but what were you doing at each death?"

Instantly, she looked up at him in surprise, no, shock. Perhaps utter horror would fit. He let loose a quiet chuckle as she got up. "How can you suspect that woman was me? There are countless reapers that look alike!" she defended herself, he got up as well, his warm expression changing to a menacing one in which he had malicious intent upon her. "And stop staring at me that way!"

"Samantha Starveling, I'll give you ten minutes to leave this Realm." He walked around his desk and went closer to her. Samantha backed away slightly from him. "Ten minutes."

She reached for the doorknob, but she did the unexpected; there was an audible click! and his heart pounded its loudest. With a frightening smirk, one that made his expression soften and recede, she approached him. "That's enough time."


A/N: No! Alan! Run away!

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