Through the streets of London a familiar scene played out. Bodies littered the streets like careless trash thrown there by a delinquent teenager, the smell of charred flesh was all around in the air, screams were heard mingled with the sounds of crackling fire, and somewhere in the distance the disheartening cry of a child. The town of London was painted red with blood by a reaper who adored the color. He would not stop until his world was drowned in crimson and everyone felt his wrathful vengeance. The saying was true, hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, and even though this was no woman the person behind the revving chainsaw might disagree.

A man in a business suit, sloppily ironed, with his haphazardly done blonde hair playing with the hard blowing wind, was walking straight down the street. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and fiddling with a ball of cotton and loose change as if to distract himself from what was all around him. Indeed it seemed he didn't care in the least about the carcasses that were strewn here and there yet seemed so artistically placed. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, just as lazy as his eyes looked as they sat there on a deadpan face. His fingers found what he was looking for in his pockets; a lighter. Delicately with no tremble in his fingers he flipped open the top to reveal the igniting flame that was ready to kiss the tip of his cigarette. As smoke twirled from the end of the long poisonous stick he seemed so stoic, heroic, and manly.

There was an air about him that could not be described without using the rudimentary, modern word of cool. He was relaxed and uncaring about the situation he was in, totally at home in this environment of dangers and suffering, as the world around him crumbled into ashes. He was just about as movie star as you could get; glamorously handsome, perfectly chiseled, incredibly smooth, and had such cold eyes that they actually made you feel hot. Most women go for this type of man, they type of man who just didn't give a rat's ass about anything at all. Time had hardened him past the point of caring. A puff of toxic, gray smoke curled from out of his lips like a dragon's breath before he finally spoke in a rugged, far off voice;

"Jesus Christ Grell," He simply stated as if it was the first thing he had said in a while before tilting his head up to view the stars, the only thing that remained tranquil and beautiful, "You really know how to start a party, Don't you?"

He was speaking this as if it was nothing, like talking about how quaint the weather was. His eyes closed as he allowed one more cloud of smoke to break free of his mouth before enjoying the scenery above him. The stars were just so enchanting tonight that it captivated the forgotten man inside the hardened shell of what he was. They twinkled like silver jewels caught in a black velvet void; it was mystical and captivating, a pleasant interruption from the hell that surrounded him.

"London Bridge ain't the only thing falling down, is it now?"

His voice and speech patterns were again very nonchalant as if he was shooting the breeze with an old friend and nothing more. His eyes followed down the disheveled roads of roasting bodies writhing in pain and pleading for mercy to see a hooded, cloaked figure dragging a bloody blade across the gravel and brick. It was more than a touch creepy as the figure was walking extremely slowly and the scraping noise of the blade was eerie. At first it seemed to be Undertaker, but it most certainly wasn't as he did not wear that type of clothing or have that type of weapon. Besides, there was something most certainly female about the form. The man just continued to watch her, slightly interested in her sluggish movements and wavering her body about as if she was drunk.

She seemed wobbly, like her legs were made of jelly, as she continued her trek to the middle of the street where he was standing. His eyebrow went up curiously, wondering what she would do or say or if she would just walk past him. He was curious as to why she was just roaming about the streets, but inside he was saying, 'who knows how any of us got here? For all I know she could have some intricate back-story…just like me…' Her head tilted upwards so that she would be staring him straight on. The orange glow from the fire around them cast onto her face, revealing it to him.

She was all sorts of beautiful but in the most saddening of ways. A tragic beauty. That wasn't what caught his attention, though he did think she was incredibly hot. No, it was her deep, bright eyes that reflected all the hardship that was in the past that no one knew about. He could tell what kind of person she was at the moment and what kind of person she had been and that she and him had a lot more in common than he could have imagined. In the hours that seemed to drag on that he looked in her eyes, he developed a silent affection for her and empathetic sympathy. She seemed terrified, lost, and alone but also grieved and distraught. There was something to her eyes that seemed so out of touch with all reality and in some respect so was he. He wanted to reach out his black gloved hands and wipe away the blood from her cheek, feel her warmth, and remember what it was like to actually feel a woman.

"You got a name or what?" He asked, a touch huskily for this was one gorgeous woman and the first he had really seen in a long time, one who seemed so different than the others. She just stared into his soul for the longest time making him uneasy and making him loose his cool until he dropped his cigarette. Her eyes were so frightening, doe-like, innocent, and terribly fascinating that it made his heart tremor and soul quiver with some emotion he tried to discard.

"Wh…Where am I? What have I d-done?"

"You're in London, sweetie, and it's ablaze with madness. As for what you've done? Hell if I know, baby," His voice had an underlining of trepidation as it fluttered a bit, which was the first in the longest time for him.

"All these…poor people…poor innocent people…they didn't deserve to die. It wasn't their time…" She whispered to herself, hoarsely and on the verge of tears.

"That's right; they weren't scheduled to die any time now. Sometimes, though, a force like natural disaster or something unexpected could happen. People die, it happens. You shouldn't worry too much about it, doll face. Besides, you didn't know them so what does it matter really?"

"You…you are just like everyone else…you don't get it…life is precious…besides…it was me…wasn't it? I helped him kill them…IT WAS ME! I KILED THEM WITH HIM!" She screamed into his face, her nose about three inches away from his, her eyes even rounder than normal, and her pupils dilated in a way that made her look insane.

"A sweet thing like you killed these people?" The man asked, trying to keep his cool as she raised her weapon, suddenly bent on harming him.

"YES YES! AND I HATED IT! I HATED IT!"

He moved past her swished blade at all costs; still trying to retain his calm, collected nature while getting some information out about her. Just who was she? Why did she kill these people? What did she gain from it? Who was this he? Was she mad? The man grinned a bit as he nearly bit off his cigarette. The fires of madness burn bright tonight because you set them ablaze, my brother. Your unquenchable thirst for blood will not be sated without that which you so hopelessly seek. The only thing to cover red is black.

"If you hated it so damned much then why do it?"

"PLEASE DIE!"

The way she was blindly swinging about that blade and yelling like that…she was acting like Grell. Even through her pain filled voice and sudden tears she was still the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on and even with the fires raging on she was, to him, the hottest thing there. He danced with her for the longest time back and forth, dodging, flying, running and all the while trying to strike up a conversation with the murderous miss. Her thin, frail form left an impression of incapability and from the man's point of view he could see that she was just a little mouse hiding behind a veil of all black.

"So who is this him, huh? Sounds like an oily type of fellow."

"HE HAS YOUR EYES…THOSE EYES THAT BURN LIKE THE FIRES AROUND US…THE EYES OF A FERAL BEAST! HE IS THE MAN WITH THE CHAINSAW TEETH!"

The man halted in his steps, a screeching noise echoed from his shoes grinding against the pavement. His sudden and abrupt halt left the woman enough time to slice him from his left shoulder blade to his neck and then sever his arm from his other shoulder. His body crumpled like a sheet of paper to fire, the gashes she created leaked out blood, and he screamed out in blood curdling agony. She would have done the same to all his limbs had she not been knocked out cold from behind. The man's vision began to get blurry as the overwhelming pain of losing a limb took over him. The last thing he remembered seeing were two shadows looming over him, threatening to take him into the abyss of the next life.

When he awoke he was not in heaven, hell, limbo or in another body, but instead was in semi-familiar territory. His body lay nearly naked on an ice cold examination table in a very tepid room filled with a musty, old, decaying, dusty scent. His glasses, for he had been wearing them before, had been removed and all he could make out were blurs, blemishes, and soft smudged outlines of people and objects. All he could really tell was this place was beyond ancient, needed to be cleaned, and that the interior decorator must have had a fetish for Halloween.

His skin felt tight and new like he had stepped into it for the first time, but it was assuredly his own flesh. From some curtains came a disturbing image of a person dressed like a plague doctor, beaked mask and all. In their gloved hands was covered tray. The horrors of the devices and medicines the tray might have under it hit the man in the center of his heart. The goggled eyes seemed to be looking at him in a way the man did not fancy in the least but the voice, though in its own way was just as fearfully upsetting, was a comfort.

"Well, well, my boy, it seems you are awake. It seems the surgery was a success."

"Why the bloody hell are you wearing that? It's disturbing….wait, surgery?"

"Hihihi, I am a disturbing person young one. I thought you knew that. As for the surgery, dear, there was a bit of cutting and snipping. Oh yes, lots of fun on my part. No so much for my lovely assistant, however."

"Mr. Undertaker, if you please, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't refer to me by such terms. I have the highest regard for you and your work, all of it, but do not call me lovely," A dull, monotone voice remarked snappily from behind the curtains.

"William?" The man asked, still feeling a touch suffocated by his flesh.

"Yes, yes," The voice replied and with it came the body it belonged to from the curtains, drying off his hands and looking, for the first time, a bit messy, "How are you faring Ronald?"

Ronald Q. Knox, for that's who he was indeed, tried to move a touch but was stopped by the tightness again. It was as if his whole body was sutured to the table. The left over bits of pain from his little brawl with the mysterious maiden had left him battered and bruised for the first time in a long time since his last little shebang with Grell. Undertaker, in his plague doctor attire, crept over to the boy and placed the covered tray near the foot of the operation table and placed his rubber clad hands on Ronald's chest to lie him down.

"Don't put too much strain on yerself, lad. I'd hate to see one of me patients bust a seam now, hihi."

"Patients? Surgery? What is all this mess?"

"Relax, luv. Me and Serious Spears over there did a bit of the old snippity whippety to ya. No harm done, actually…it seems you are taking to my sewing quite nicely. I am an excellent physician, am I not? What brilliant work I have done, yes? Look at your arm, lad, I sewed that little thing right back on."

Without shifting around too much Ronald viewed his arm, the one he was certain as not going to be there for he most certainly remembered it being cut off from the rest of him. Yet there it was, plain as day, connected to his shoulder. His other arm moved and with his now ungloved hands he ran his fingers across the stitched tissue that united his shoulder with his arm. Undertaker grinned in delightful glee as he saw the amazement in his subject's eyes.

"Beautiful yes? I'm a right good seamster as well as an Undertaker. I was the one who made my clothing, you know. Though, I don't think I'll be quitting my job to become a fashion designer any time soon. HiHi. Do you like it, luv?"

"Thank you…can it move?"

"Most likely not yet. It might take a while for the bones to fuse together so for now you can't wiggle even a finger. In some respects I guess that makes it dead weight…teehee!"

"What's in the tray?" Ronald questioned, almost fearing the answer as he noted William had rolled his eyes at Undertaker's constant giggles.

"Ah, almost forgot! Breakfast for you. I do hope you like tea and biscuits."

"I'm in bloody London, that's all there ever is."

"Hihi! You have a sense of humor. I like that in you. You've got spunk too and a whole lot of spirit. You're a brave one as well, got a lot of heart and youthful ingenuity. You're the kind of kid who's street smart and rough on the outside but on the inside you're just a blind little boy. Your youth is a good thing because you've got ideas and big dreams, but it also makes you ignorant. Don't ever become a proud pheasant who thinks he's a peacock, alright?"

Undertaker tousled about the orange-blonde and black hair of the young Shinigami that lay there freezing under the metal of the surgery table. Undertaker then poured a steaming hot cup of black tea into a chipped red painted and gold leafed tea cup that looked like it was from the Rococo period. Ronald shivered which gave Undertaker the cue to use his hand to gently press on the small of Ronald's back. He gingerly pushed him up then raised the cup of nearly boiling dark colored tea to his lips.

"Damn that's hot!" Ronald hissed, pulling his lips away then grunting in pain from his sudden jerky movement.

"Settle down, Ronald. The more you move the more your stitches will come loose."

"Spears is correct. Please relax, I won't hurt you…well…I won't hurt you on purpose…unless of course you get on my nerves, which isn't likely teehee. Now, this tea must be hot because you are shivering. I made it as warm in here as possible, but you are still iced down to the bone. You narrowly escaped death, dear boy. What an irony, don't you think? A reaper, a person who in some manner dictates death, is saved from death from another reaper. HIHIHI!"

"Please, Mr. Undertaker, with all due respect," William groaned, rubbing his temples. It was then that Ronald noticed, upon being given back his glasses that William wasn't wearing his outer coat and had his white button down under shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His tie was also slightly wrinkled and his top buttons opened to give a peek at his usually hidden skin, "Please stop all the laughing."

"Oh you hush, you big old prude. Ronald, you and I are a lot alike, aren't we? Unlike him we like to have a bit of fun. True we don't find the same things to be riveting ahehe...but, you get the idea. Maybe I was wrong, Spears, maybe you won't surpass me. Maybe this one will," Undertaker suggested, pinching Ronald's cheek making him very upset.

"I have told you time and again that I am nowhere near competent enough to match your skill but if I am not close than Ronald is definitely the bottom of the barrel. No offense."

"Offense definitely taken Senpai!" Ronald shouted, lightly choking on the tea he was sipping.

"Really now, don't get so wounded. You can be a good pupil at times, but you always run off and party at all hours of the night, flirt with numerous women on the to die list, and give out top secret information to mortals. You just don't absorb information and follow the rules."

"Follow the rules? What fun is that? Following in line behind the big man that calls itself the organization is terribly bland. We all meld into a blur of grays just droning on and on doing the same goddamned thing every day. Excitement, man, excitement is what I need. Just a taste of forbidden fruit, a little roller coaster ride, a touch of euphoria, a dance with a high class bejeweled damsel, a smell of the good life for just a moment. They always say the grass is greener on the other side; well I want to be on that side. I want to be in a cozy hammock, kicking back, sipping a fruit cooler with a neon green umbrella, a few blondes and brunettes by my side. I want something different at least."

Undertaker leaned back in his chair, picking up a slightly burnt dog bone shaped biscuit as he analyzed the heavily breathing man that sat up right in front of him. He carefully removed his plague doctor mask to reveal a sweaty face and matted gray hair that stood frizzy and tangled at his shoulders and sticking to his cheeks. A little chuckle came from him as his mouth was filled with bitter tea and dry, chalky, burnt biscuit.

"You see, William, he and I are very similar indeed. Reminds me of meself in me younger years, don't you think? A rebellious youth. Look at him, he even has scars like me," Undertaker noted, scraping one of his long, black, bird-like talons across the stitches on Ronald's shoulders, arms, and neck, "That lady sure did some damage on you."

"Yeah…she did. Who was she?"

"That's classified information and so far you cannot be trusted with such things. How many times have you butted in on our mission to handcuff your little red-haired friend? We understand you have quite the connection with Sutcliff, but you need to leave this to the professionals. Now no back sass or I will demote you to paperclips if I can."

A small groan came from two people, Undertaker and Ronald. Undertaker moved the tray with the black tea and biscuits closer to Ronald so he could reach them without any stress on his body then excused himself for a moment, removing his plague doctor's overcoat, gloves, and placing his mask somewhere else. His clammy, bony hand was pressed against William's shoulder, guiding him toward his very much un-used and dust covered bedroom so he could speak with him privately. His bedroom, though only there for any company he might have, was very tidy but still was covered in layers in cobwebs and dust.

A brush was run through his silver-grey locks a little before from a hat rack he produced his signature black top hat to place upon his head. He moved toward his dresser to open up a very stunning, renaissance styled, copper and brass jewelry box with a carved scene from olden times and armorial plates. It opened up to reveal a deep russet velvet lining and a few bit and bobbles from different cultures, centuries, and places. As he dug around for something William approached him, tsking with dismay at the state of the room.

"You need to hire a maid, Mr. Undertaker."

"No need for a maid here, I do all my own cleaning."

"That's difficult to see. When's the last time you cleaned this place?" He softly asked, wiping a finger across the grime and dust covered mirror that sat on the wall.

"Who knows? My memory isn't as good as it used to be, my boy. Listen, William, I didn't call you in here to listen to you complain about my living quarters that I don't necessarily live in."

"I was in some curious state as to why exactly you brought me here. I would take a seat but given the circumstances I will stand."

"Good show. Ah, found it," He said, pulling out a small pure silver antique key from his jewelry box.

"What's that for?"

"It's a skeleton key, tehee. Oh don't look so much like a wet cat, it doesn't suit you. When's the last time you smiled? Do you know it's scientifically proven that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile?"

"Undertaker, sir, I hold each word you say as valuable and am honored that you share any conversation with me, but if you could spare me the ludicrous morals you have about my face it would be most helpful."

"But this is all about you, dear, and that lad on me operation table. Actually tonight we should move him in here…"Undertaker rambled, mumbling to himself about how he would definitely need to spruce up before continuing, "listen, William, I really do think you are too hard on him."

Using his jail-cell styled key he opened a small secret compartment in his jewelry box and inside it was a ring, a ring he often wore on his pointer finger. It was silver, plain by all means, and had a rectangular emerald nestled in the middle. He looked at it fondly as it shone in the dim lighting of his room before addressing the elephant in the room, or more so the smartly dressed reaper in the room.

"I have to be hard on him, you know. He is my underling, my pupil, the block of clay I must mold into-"

"Into what? Into another you? I don't want that lad becoming a straight haired, trim glasses wearing, pressed suit and all business type of man. You know, the kind you so pride yourself to be. You either have your nose in the books or up someone's arse, like mine. I am only a legend because I broke the rules, because I went past the boundaries, and because I understood people's lives, hearts, and pasts. I took the time to break an old rule: never speak to the deceased. I found out how they wanted to die, why they were dying, and gave them the chance to live if I saw it fit. I got to know them personally, something you would never do. It's all business for you, is it not? If you want to make an omlette you've got to break a few eggs, as they say."

"Undertaker, some things you say I have to think about because the way you word them makes genuine sense, but still I hold my own morals and code. You cannot persuade me too much. I understand what you are trying to do here, but it's just not who I am. The last time I got involved with a human it was on my first mission with Grell and that didn't end too well for either of us. I lost my glasses and a few finesse points on my final score."

"If I am correct you did make a friend, did you not?"

"With all due respect, Grell Sutcliff is, at most, my close acquaintance."

"With all due respect, you are full of shit. You are on this mission for a reason."

"I'm on this mission because it concerns me!"

"Grell concerns you?"

"Yes!"

William shouted this, not exactly realizing what he said, and his cheeks flushed just a tad bit as the realization dawned on him. Undertaker crossed his arms and smugly smiled; flipping his bangs out of his face so he could be taken more seriously for reapers only seemed to have any respect for him when he showed he was actually one of them.

"Caught you," Undertaker replied, a touch cheekily as he relished the look William was giving him and how he was trying to brush it off by fixing his clothes and coughing. "Oh William, laddie, you are so uptight like an overly starched shirt, just too firm and stiff. I have faith in you, that one day you will ease up a bit. You're no shoddy two bit reaper, you're fucking amazing at reaping, but you take it so damned seriously. If I could combine you and Ronald that'd be bloody fabulous. His free spirit and you're reaping? Perfect."

"I'm not perfect now? I could never, ever, be as relaxed about something as important as the lives and deaths of mortals as he could. They are our life essence in a way."

"Kind of like a demon?" Undertaker sneakily asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It is a different matter entirely! Do not dare compare us to those…heathens! That is one thing I do not tolerate, not even from you!"

"Easy there, Will, easy. Calm yourself. I'm not here to preach…not really. I just want to see you succeed, and I mean that in both ways. I want you to succeed me. At the heart of this conversation I just think that you could use some buffering Most of what I said back there was all play. Ronnie is much too rough around the edges to be my successor, much too foolhardy and young. He's an edgy, upbeat sort of lad, but not for me. Here, I think this should say everything," He gently, soothingly explained in the most beautiful of voices, charming and soft, as he placed an object in William's hands.

William's hands opened like a slowly blossoming flower to reveal a silver circle with a green square. Undertaker's ring. He stared at it for a while, surprise in his green, yellow rimmed eyes. He fondled the object delicately before looking rather offended at Undertaker who smiled. Without use of many words Undertaker could tell William didn't think he was worthy of such a gift and without any words Undertaker convinced him.

"But-"

"No, don't even say it."

"This ring…I know what it means to you…what it means to all reapers…"

"And thus what it means to you. It's the ring of the ages, worn by the founder of all reaper history, the first reaper, Father Time himself and since has been passed down until it has reached me and I have been the holder of this sacred object for the longest time, until now. I told you, you are basically my son."

Undertaker firmly squeezed William's shoulder before hugging him tightly, pressing the man into his chest with a heavy sigh. For a moment William felt actually pleased with himself in an emotional way he hadn't truly felt. A smile, a genuine one twitched on the side of his lips as he, surprisingly, returned the hug. At first it was awkwardly clumsy like a baby giraffe, but after a few minutes of silence he hugged Undertaker with as much force as the mad mortician used on him.

His emerald eyes met the emerald ring that he was now wearing with confidence. This ring represented a long lineage of legendary reapers right down to the first and William found himself proud to be considered valuable enough to own it. The tender bond between two people that considered each other as family was unfortunately interrupted by another reaper, named Yama, who was running Undertaker's establishment when he was away.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," He politely apologized looking over William's slight flustered appearance as he quickly peeled himself away from Undertaker in the most professional, somewhat straitlaced way he could, "but this is really important."

"Go on my boy, what is it?"

"I was wondering if you moved Ronald. I was going to bandage him and give him some spicy curry to wake him up but he's not there."

"He's not?!" William shouted, genuinely shocked but still somehow retaining his dull monotone.

Sure enough as they left Undertaker's bedroom and went where Ronald last was they were confronted with an empty metal operating table with a bloody trail leading outside a filthy window.

"Well we have to go find him! He can't be moving about like this, he'll open up those wounds for sure," Undertaker declared ushering William out the door making him rush to get back on his coat hurriedly, leaving Yama there thoroughly confused.

Somewhere on the cold, fogged up streets, where desolation could still be found after all that was once there was burned asunder, was one such Ronald Knox, pressing his arm against his wounds to stop the bleeding. Despite the pain shooting through him, his seams coming loose, and wearing some torn up clothing, he still continued on. He was an insatiable man with a mission that he would not let die. Despite his wounded form he was still able to look statuesque as he pushed on past his pain toward his goal. He thought in the back of his deranged little head that he could be the only one to set Grell straight. At first he was a little content with staying in Undertaker's abode and healing, but something made him change his mind.

He had someone to thank for that. Someone who was the very reason he was holding together his arm with a lick and a promise, someone who was fierce yet innocent, someone who had struck a chord with him. She, the hooded figure, who had realized now was Bonne Douler, Grell's accomplice, was his replacement and yet he prized her above all things. Why would that be that a woman he knew so little about have such a deep impact on a man such as he?

The reason he changed and decided to continue this endeavor was because Bonne had forced him to do something, something he hadn't done in a while, something that drove him into the arms of his awaiting best friend in the entire world, into the jaws of death, and into his own demise. The reason was a feeling, a long forgotten one at that. The reason, at heart, was simple yet complex.

She had made him remember what it was to care again.