Chapter twooo~ The key to a good crossover, I've learned, is in introducing a little familiar danger to the poor fellow you sent to another world. Not to mention, it will make an excellent segway to setting the story in motion.

Enjoy!

It awoke, and it was already hungry.

Curled up in a dark nest it mad constructed for itself out of bones, branches, and pieces of metal, it opened one of it's large eyes, blinking. The only other creatures that could see as well as it could down here were small creatures, far too easy pickings for it to properly hunt (if that's what you could call pursuing prey in these tight conditions), and too small to be a proper meal by themselves.

However, it'd solved that problem.

There were other kinds of prey here: They were two-legged creatures, like the ones that had starved it, beaten it, poured tingling, burning juices on it to make it…smarter? Faster? What had they been meaning to do?

It didn't matter to it. Not anymore.

Its long tongue slid out and licked it's fangs as it raised it's head, it's long tai curled around by it's massive claws. It's long horns gently brushed against the roof of the small cement tunnel that it had called home since it had arrived, and, as it cast it's dark eyes around again, feeling hunger growing in it's belly, it began to do something very, very few, if any, of it's kind did-Ponder.

Where was this new place? Prey was smaller here, though certainly not scarce. There were very few familiar scents in this new place, and, though it had kept to the dark of these tunnels for so long, there had been many new things to see. Creatures that were larger than it in size but had stronger skin and strange movements would appear sometimes on the surface while it was passing by, others with low-slung bodies that didn't need feet, just round…things.

Whe-els.

It blinked, standing, it's hunched, spiny back knocking some of the small bones from yesterday's hunt off of it's back as the muscled, scaly creature stood. Why did it know that? Whe-els. It sounded…strange.

It's stomach reminded it what was important with a sudden growl, and it looked down, a little surprised at the sudden noise. Massive nostrils flared as it examined it's stomach, making certain there was nothing to be concerned of. Finally, when it was confident, it raised it's head and stepped out of it's nest, looking back and forth down the dark tunnels for it's morning feeding.

All the while, the strange thing floated through it's mind. The round shape, the strange feel, the scent, and the word…Whe-els.

How did it know these things? This was on it's mind as it stepped down the tunnels, splayed claws making it easy to navigate in the watery areas as smaller creatures fled before this new towering terror. Normally, it'd be focused on following pheromones, keeping track of what had been where, and seeing if anything good had floated down from the surface into the tunnels that it had occupied for a short while now. Today, however, it's mind wandered to the strange new thing in it's mind.

It wondered for a moment if the strange rock that the straight-backed monsters had placed on it's head was still there, still ordering him around as if it was it's pack leader. Brushing his head against a corner, it felt the rough surface rub across it's scales.

No. No, it was gone. It knew that.

Was it the funny juices? The ones that had both tingled and burned as they were introduced to it's scales? It'd been having strange thoughts since the straight-backed monsters had first given it a sample of the strange sludge. Not only that, strange sounds had begun to appear it's throat when it roared and grunted. They sounded alien to it, but they had some strange importance to it.

Whe-els. It was another one.

As it finally caught the scent of spilled blood, it gave an eager rumble. The stench was strong and powerful, so it knew that whatever was losing blood either had died close by now, or was large and wounded enough to make a substantial stink. It's tail flicked once in happiness as it turned left, and continued a little faster up a slope. It peeked it's head over the slope, and rumbled again.

It wasn't a body. It was a PILE of bodies. Straight-backed monsters where piled there, cut and bloodied. It cocked it's head. Did something else stock it's food? What would? Why this food?

Why did it even care?

Looking around, it stepped up the slope and crouched down among the pile, it's massive claws pushing bodies aside to find some suitable prey. It was beyond elated-It couldn't remember having such a wonderful selection, let alone one that included such fresh kills.

As it scooped up a straight-back in it's claws, it gave it a sniff. There was a funny stink in this one, but it wasn't unfamiliar. Other straight-backs had the same stink when it had found them before in it's home, usually caused by other straight-backs.

Nevertheless, it was still a fitting meal.

Opening it's massive fanged maw, it took off the straight-backs head and neck with one bite, bones crunching as it tossed the food back. As it did this, a new sound floated into its mind, but it didn't give it pause while it was feeding.

Death-claw.

Now what did THAT mean?

The Ranger's helmet clicked back into place over his mask with a sharp snap, the red eyes lighting up briefly before the light faded and they were nothing more than goggles. His breakfast ration settled in his stomach as he stood, dusting some stray dirt from his pants. Casting his eyes around, The Ranger began to review the events of the last twenty-four hours.

Had it been twenty-four? The Ranger was unsure. His mission clock said it was midnight, but the sun was making headway into the sky from beyond the skyline, lighting his alcove with sunshine. Marking it in his memory, The Ranger decided to set his clock to local time as soon as he could find the time-Otherwise, he'd be stuck running on Mojave time in Eleven.

As soon as that term surfaced in his mind, The Ranger looked around the alley. Good, he was alone. Admittedly, maybe one or two street urchins had peeked into the destroyed building, but The Ranger doubted they had stuck around. These "Elevens", who were they, really? They seemed human enough-No traces of irradiation or mutation, but they were treated in a manner similar to the way organizations like the Enclave or the Legion treated other human beings.

Bile rose in The Ranger's throat at the thought of such inhumane treatment before he forced it down, the sense of disgust not so easy to dispel as he stepped out of the alleyway. His brush rifle was still over his back, and his Sequoia remained still in his holster, brushing lazily against his worn jeans as he made his way down the deserted and ruined road, the pavement cracked and scarred with marks of a fight long over.

At least, that's what it was meant to be.

These "Elevens", they acted as though they were living in submission, but wasn't this their country? Didn't they have rights? Were they refugees from another nation, one that was ruined worse than this one?

Was this wasteland even their home?

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind until a later date, The Ranger examined a man running across the street, back hunched as he tried to remain low and out-of-sight. Something was held tightly in his arms, and the look on his face expressed clear distress. This gave The Ranger pause, and he cast his eyes around, the red eyes of his mask glinting in the rising sun. There were no visible sniper positions around here, or any signs of danger. Was this man simply afraid? A criminal? Was he carrying a weapon of some kind? A bomb, perhaps?

The Ranger pulled the brakes on his mind before it ran off with wild ideas. He was still a stranger here, and lacked even the basic knowledge suitable to live in Eleven. Still, The Ranger found himself crossing the street, the cowboy boots hardly making a sound on the pavement as, keeping his hands in his duster pockets, casually walked up to the ruins where the man had vanished.

He wasn't alone. As he leaned against the wrecked cement wall, ducking his head under the cover of the destroyed building, The Ranger could make out locals speaking their tongue in fast, worried tones. There were at least two individuals-Two young men, one of whom The Ranger assumed to be the one who had crossed the street, due to the voice sounding out of breath.

"Anata ga miataranari baai sore wa," The runner was saying, the sound of a newspaper unfurling following his worried tone, "Futatavi saido no yoru o utta!"

"Baka!" A second voice snapped, his voice harsh and judgemental, "Anata wa itsu manabu nodarou ka?" He scoffed, and The Ranger heard the distinct sound of someone taking a dar on a cigarette as he did, "Sore wa hon'no ichibu no Buritania shinri de wa naku, ikutsu ka no monsutādesu."

"Sono baai wa, naze karera wa shinjitsu o kakushite iru?" The first man said, snapping the newspaper again, "Anata wa watashi ni iwa sereba watashi-tachi wa Deathclaw no monodearu toshite, Britannians wa onaji yō ni kowaidesu!"

The Ranger almost felt his heart stop, before he forced his worries to the back of his mind. Deathclaws? Here? Preposterous. Still, he listened a bit more intently, leaning a little closer to the pebbled edge of what remained the wrecked building's doorway, listening to a third voice, this one old and tired, join the conversation.

"Britannians ga Deathclaw o osorerunara," The elder voice spoke, slowly and coolly as The Ranger heard him exhale, "watashi-tachi wa dōyō ni suru no ga kenmeidarou."

This time, The Ranger was certain his heart stopped. Again, "Deathclaw". Was it possible? Of course, he thought to himself, The Enclave wouldn't have dared to use human subjects-American subjects, pure subjects-Unless they knew whatever they were testing was safe. Deathclaws, to them, were nothing more than big, deadly lab rats. There had been pens lining the corridors on the way to the chamber where The Ranger had seen the "V" mark on the wall, but they had all been empty.

Could the Enclave have had a Deathcalw in one of those pens, and used it as a test for whatever sent him here?

Curiosity trumped caution as he took a step out from the cover, standing straight in the ruined doorway, examining the group before tipping his helmet with a polite, "Howdy".

Reactions to The Ranger always varied from place to place. Among other NCR troops, it had been awe and inspiration. Among outsiders, it had been fear and caution, with a hint of admiration. Among fellow Rangers, pride and approval.

Among these Elevens, however, the reactions ran the whole gamut. There wwere three men in what looked like a burned-out living room, sitting down around the smoldering remains of a campfire from the previous night. The first one, to the Ranger's right, was the runner, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, crawling back against the wall as his wild, trembling hands reached for a large bat next to him. The second, to the Ranger's left, stood, pulling a shotgun from behind him with trained practice, anger overwhelming his eyes.

The third man, however, was old. Very old. His wrinkles and loss of hair, however, didn't make him appear fragile-The thin boned body did that. However, the way his dark eyes watched The Ranger appear, the way his jaw moved slightly against the wooden pipe in his mouth, the way he remained still, kneeling by the ashes of the fire, betrayed one very important fact to The Ranger: This man was old, but not past the point of danger.

Settling on discretion, The Ranger kept his eyes on the elder man for a moment before he looked to the first man, who cringed back as the red eyes turned on him. "Sorry to disturb y'all," The Ranger growled out, his gruff voice, for once, polite and amiable (though it must have still sounded threatening through the mask), "But I thought I heard the term "Deathclaw", come up. Frankly," He said, eyes turning to the man with the shotgun, who had just dared to take a step forward, "I ain't here to fight y'all. Just tryin' to get some information, simple as that."

There was a tense silence as The Ranger waited for a response from anyone. Finally, the gritty voice of the elder man broke the silence. "Sasuke wa, sandan jū o oku." He puffed the pipe once, his dark eyes remaining on The Ranger as he looked back to the old man, "Kare wa watashi-tachi ni kyōi arimasen."

The shotgun man, Sasuke, turned to blink, wide-eyed, at the old man. "Chichi, kare wa-"

"Kon, Sasuke." The old man removed the pipe from his mouth and tilted his head up to get a better look at The Ranger. "I apologize for my sons," he said, his gritty voice accented as he did, "They are distrustful of men who hide their faces. "

"But you ain't?" The Ranger said, a little surprised.

The old man gave a coughing laugh, smoke curling from his nostrils as he took another pull of the pipe. "I remember you, Stranger. You saved an infant boy yesterday, and then stood up to a Britannian tank with nothing but your six-gun."

Sasuke's brother blinked, relaxing as he looked with new eyes at The Ranger. "This-This is him, father?" His voice was broken, belaying shock and wonder. It made The Ranger feel rather like a superhero.

Then he reminded himself of what he'd done in his life, and simply tilted his head in acknowledgement. The old man gave another laugh, a could of smoke drifted from his lips as they turned in a wry grin. "Yes. You, stranger," He said, taking the tip of his pipe out and pointing it at The Ranger, "Are a strange man indeed. Stupid? Brave?" The old man shook his head, locking the tip of the pipe between his yellowed teeth, "I cannot decide."

"Both seem to get the job done, sir," The Ranger said, keeping his eyes on the old man as Sasuke lowered his shotgun, giving The Ranger a once over. "Though I could say the same 'bout y'all coverin' my little escape."

The old man grinned, and The Ranger saw a funny look in his eye. Was it amusement? Respect? The Ranger had long since given up on trying to read people that way, but, every now and then, a look would be cast his way that would pique his curiosity. It would go unheeded, however, as the old man nodded once. "Sit, Stranger."

The Ranger did, placing his brush gun in his lap as he mimicked the cross-legged position of the elder man across from him. The two boys on either side sat straighter, but kept wary eyes on The Ranger, from his black armor to his worn duster. "Thank you kindly," The Ranger said, watching the elder man puff at the pipe again, "As I was sayin', I couldn't help but overhear the word "Deathclaw" come up."

"You know of this monster?" The unnamed brother spoke, but a flashing look from his father silenced him. As the elder's eyes slowly turned back to The Ranger, they gave him a once-over again.

"Do you?"

The Ranger nodded. "Can't say they're the same was yours, sir, but the name does ring a fair share of bells."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "You are Britannian."

The Ranger paused. Was he? Technically, he wasn't-He was from Primm, but, once again, his failure to know the lay of the land seemed to create an impasse for him. "I guess I am, sir."

"Guess?" The old man blinked, surprise surfacing on his wrinkled features, "You do not know where you are from?"

The Ranger gave a shy chuckle before he answered. "Let's just say I'm not from around here," He finally said, "Just passin' through." It wasn't the entire truth, but it was close. It seemed to satisfy the old man, but The Ranger kept noticing the look of curiosity in his eyes.

"Is that right?"

"Yessir."

The old man's eyes narrowed again. "You speak to me," he said, removing his pipe from his lips, his dark eyes growing intense as he looked upon The Ranger, "With respect. Dignity. Why is this?"

The Ranger wasn't sure how to answer. Frankly, he was never comfortable talking about himself, especially when his curiosity about the mention of Deathclaws remained unstated. "Just how I was raised, sir."

The brothers traded looks of surprised, their eyes and head going from their father to the armored Ranger opposite, seeming entranced by this development. "I am an Eleven," The old man growled, placing a hand on his knee and resting his elbow on his other, "Your parents raised you to treat an Eleven with respect? Call him "sir"?"

"Yessir." The Ranger was getting tense and uncomfortable now. He wanted to get to work, find out of this Deathclaw was related at all to the ones he knew, and, if so, how it got here.

He even dared to hope it might have a way out.

The old man looked over The Ranger again, but he didn't seem to be examining his guns or armor-The old man seemed to be looking underneath it all, as if he could see into The Ranger's soul. The Ranger was unsure he wanted the old man to see just what was there, but he let it slide as the old man nodded slowly. "I see," He said, his voice distant as his dark eyes returned to focus on The Ranger's red goggles, "I see." He placed the pipe between his lips again and puffed. "You are a strange man indeed."

"Hopefully," The Ranger said, hoping to get the conversation back on a track where he wasn't the center of attention, "Not strange enough for you to not pass on any info you have 'bout this "Deathclaw"."

The unnamed brother looked from his brother, to his father, to The Ranger, trading looks of surprise with each. "It," he said, his English a fair bit worse than his father's, "It is not unknown among you Britannians, yes? Why do you not ask them?"

The Ranger suddenly shifted his look to the younger brother, who jumped again, falling back a bit before his arms caught the burned floor and stopped him. "I'm askin' you 'bout it," The Ranger said, his voice betraying his growing impatience and uncomfort with this situation, "And I'd take it as a kindness if you'd answer, best you can."

The old man's eyes focused again on The Ranger, and The Ranger found his head turning back to the old man, as if he had commanded him to do so. They narrowed as he watched The Ranger, before he removed the pipe from his lips and spoke. "When an Eleven dies, it is hardly news," The old man began, "But, recently, there have been," He paused, tossing over what word to use before he settled on, "incidents. They are consistent, but lack the usual signs of Britannian violence against Elevens."

"We aren't Elevens," Sasuke growled, his fists clenching, and the eyes of the three other men turned to him as his jaw tightened, "We are Japanese! This is Japan, not Area Eleven! We-"

"URUSAI!" The old man snapped, and The Ranger jumped a little at the hostile tone in his voice. Sasuke cast a dark look at his father before he nodded. "Forgive my Sasuke," The old man said as he and The Ranger returned their eyes to each other, "He is proud, but stubborn. He has yet to learn to bide his tongue," The old man growled harshly, turning his dark eyes to Sasuke before they looked back to The Ranger. "Now, where was I?"

"The attacks are similar," The Ranger answered, "But they're beyond the norm. How's that?"

This time, it was the unnamed brother who spoke up. "The stories we hear are of oni," He said, fear in his voice, "A great one, hunting people for it's food. It is said that it has powerful, long claws, so we name it "Deathclaw"."

"Oni?" The Ranger said, looking to Sasuke and the old man for translation. Granted, the claws certainly made it sound like a Deathclaw, but he needed more to go on, more evidence. It wasn't enough to jump into the sewers with hope of finding a way home if all he would find was a big cat with a nail growth issue.

"Demon," Sasuke answered, "Long horns protrude from it's forehead, like this," His pointed fingers moved up against his forehead, pointing up and outwards.

The Ranger's attention became focused on Sasuke. It was another sign of Deathclaws-their horns. They could do as much damage as they're namesake claws in some situations. "You've seen it?"

Sasuke shook his head, lowering his hands. "No, I haven't. My friend's father, however," He said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to The Ranger, who did the same, "Saw it once. He's a sewer worker."

"Describe it," The Ranger said, without missing a beat. He was like a hound in hot pursuit of prey, and was just catching the trail.

"It was tall," Sasuke said, using his hands to demonstrate it's features, "walked on two legs, and had a large hunch. Spines ran down it's back, like those of a lizard, but it had a horn upon it's nose."

There was no doubting it now. Word for word, it was a Deathclaw. The Ranger sat back, sighing faintly. The old man raised a graying eyebrow. "You sound relieved, stranger."

The Ranger nodded, an eager thumping in his chest. "Yeah, suppose I do."

Sasuke scowled, his brow furrowing. "Why? Because your filthy oni is doing what you commanded of it?"

Before the old man could silence him again, The Ranger shook his head, raising a gloved hand. "No 'fense meant by it," He said, turning his head to Sasuke as he lowered his hand, "But I know the creature you're talkin' 'bout. It's the first familiar thing I've heard of in the last eight hours." He looked back at Sasuke, who was blinking in a more than bewildered fashion. "You wouldn't happen to remember where your friend's daddy saw this Deathclaw, would you?"

Sasuke blinked dumbly for a minute before pointing to a sewer grate in the street behind The Ranger. "Below, in the sewers. It was going north, towards the Settlement."

While Sasuke seemed stunned at the thought of The Ranger perusing the Deathclaw, The old man's eyes narrowed at the ranger once more he took another puff of the pipe. "What will you do with this knowledge, stranger?"

"Hunt it," The Ranger said simply, picking up his brush rifle and checking the rounds (He had to conserve ammo, no telling if they had similar rounds here), "Get some answers. Don't got a plan yet, but, way I see it, I'll either figure one out along the way or get gutted tryin'."

The old man watched The Ranger for a moment, blinking slowly. "I believe I have decided what you are, stranger."

"Oh?" Said the The Ranger as he stood, slipping the strap of the brush rifle over his chest, "What'ddya figure?"

"You are stupid," The old man said, a small grin tickling the edges of his wrinkled lips, "Very stupid."

The Ranger gave a country chuckle, tipping his helmet. "Much obliged for the help, friends," He said as he turned, his duster whirling as he made his way to the grate, squatting down as he lifted the metal grate aside, placing it on the broken pavement, "Take care of yourselves, now!"

"Good luck, stranger!" The old man called, and The Ranger could've sworn he heard the old man chuckle once more before he jumped into the sewer, his boots landing in the water with a splash as he slid the brush rifle from his shoulder, slipped it into his hands and cocked it before he took off at full speed into the dark of the sewer, the red lights of his mask matching the intensity of the fire burning full blast in his chest.