Hey all! Me again, with another crossover! It's difficult to mesh my favorite video game series and one of my favorite mecha animes, but I'm going to give it a shot. Geass is just dark enough to let a Veteran NCR Ranger in, and Fallout? Well, it's a wild, wild wasteland. Who's to say that there's no way the two worlds could collide?

Anyway, as usual, read and review! Tell me if I make this work or not.

Enjoy!

The pain was the first thing that woke The Ranger up.

The pounding headache, too much like a hangover for The Ranger's comfort, made him wince. His eyes, instead of opening, tightened shut as he reached up and felt his mask.

Intact. Good.

He opened his eyes slowly and blearily, making sure to make slow, steady movements. The Ranger was in an alley of some sort, filled with trash and refuse. The pungent odors of smoke and charred flesh made him look his own body over.

Nope, wasn't him.

His armor was whole, his worn blue jeans a little dusty, and his boots were still freshly shined, albeit scuffed a little from the dirt in the alleyway.

So the stink wasn't him.

Forcing whatever might be causing it to the back of his mind, The Ranger lowered his hand to his lap. His rifle, a brush gun, lay across his lap, and his gloved hands gripped it tight. A weight on his right hip told him his Sequoia was still in one piece as well.

Good.

Finally, The Ranger, remaining still, took inventory of the last few hours.

He'd been woken up at 500 hours. Debriefed on some Enclave secret project at 515 hours. Quick breakfast of bread and cheese at 545. Left Camp Golf at 600 hours. Arrived on-site at 630 hours.

The Ranger stopped counting the hours as he began to recall vividly what had happened next. They'd stormed the Enclave base, losing more men then they should've on the way in. His squad had survived. They had entered a chamber. There was something there, a mark on the far wall across from where he had been standing.

A "V"? No. No, the symbol had lines going up and out from the top of the "V" in the center. Someone had pressed a button. Their eyes had flashed, and they'd spoken to him with a smooth voice. Suddenly, all The Ranger had wanted to do was step into the center of the room. There had been a flash…

And here he was.

The Ranger checked his com channel.

It was filled with chatter, but nothing he recognized.

"Knights, move forward and quell the rebels! Leave the Glascow to Lord Jeremiah!"

Okay.

Okay.

The Ranger wasn't in New Vegas anymore. Hell, was he even in America? Who were the Knights? Lord Jeremiah? Sure, they sounded American enough, but no American talked like that, not even before the Great War.

Well, that was just The Ranger's assumption.

"I'm picking up a thermal signature in an alley," A voice over the radio said, pulling the Ranger from his reverie, "Investigating it now!" The Ranger's hands tightened on the brush rifle. There was a rumbling to his right, like something big with wheels was rolling his way. He turned the rifle to his right, lying there with his back against the wall of the alley, watching the corner.

A Behemoth came around the corner, stopping to look at him. It was mechanical, massive, and mean-looking, despite the purple color scheme and the strange antler-like protuberances that went backwards out of its head.

It made The Ranger's heart pound.

"Looks like a dirty Eleven got his filthy hands on some toys!" The voice over the com sneered, and the face of the mechanical monstrosity opened. An orange sphere was inside, green waves rolling across the surface, presumably scanning The Ranger.

He reacted with practiced speed. In seconds, the bush rifle was in his hands and he unloaded a round into the dead center of the eye-like scanner within the machine's head. It shattered like glass, sparks of electricity flying from it as the machine's controller gave a yell of annoyance. The face hissed shut and it raised a massive sub machine gun, probably the size of The Ranger's torso.

It opened fire, spewing bullets the size of The Ranger's fist across the alley. Ducking to the side, The Ranger made a low dash towards the machine. It swiveled where it stood, blasting away at where The Ranger had been, but not following his tracks. Had he blinded it? The Ranger hoped so.

His boots carried him around the back of the machine, and a large hump on the back opened up. A man with a headset stood up from within the hump, looking over the head of the machine, pulling a sidearm of some sort from his hip. His eyes widened as he noticed The Ranger had vanished from sight, and turned to look.

Another round of The Ranger's brush rifle took care of him, leaving a blossom of blood to appear on the cement wall behind the pilot. At least, The Ranger assumed from the headset that this was the pilot, and not just a passenger. The machine seemed to stay put, however, as the corpse fell from the other side, hitting the ground with the sickening thud of broken bones and busted brains.

Nothing new to The Ranger. The machine on the other hand…

He clambered up the side, letting his rifle hang along his back. Climbing up into the cockpit, The Ranger took his first look inside the control area of this war machine. It was wide and open, filled with millions of flashing screens and lights. There was a large seat, and the controls seemed apparent to The Ranger, but he doubted that it would be useful. His shot to the scanner seemed to have made the behemoth useless, leaving it nothing more than a towering hunk of intimidating scrap metal.

At least, at first glace.

The Ranger swept his eyes over the interior, the red tint of his goggles making the screens a little harder to read. However, he could still make out some words, and one in particular stood out. It was a button on the screen, blinking lazily at The Ranger, but the words on it gave him pause.

'DISTRESS BEACON'.

Now, The Ranger sat back, planning silently in the seat of the machine. Communications hadn't been knocked out, but if someone was going to come looking for him, pressing that button would make it a damn certainty that they found him. On the other hand, now would be the perfect time to make an escape, if there was one. No doubt someone had been on the other end of that earpiece, and they had probably heard The Ranger's rifle turn the pilot's head into shrapnel.

Decisions, decisions…

After a minute of pause, The Ranger decided it was best to make sure that this was a getaway, leaving no trace of his presence. Sliding out of the seat and back down the side of the machine, he took a lone grenade (it's brethren had long since been used to waste the base they had found), pulled the pin, and tossed it into the cockpit before taking off at a run. The explosion of the machine rocked the street, sending a pillar of smoke and fire skywards. The Ranger didn't stop to admire the sight; He was too busy making his own exit, boots pounding at the broken pavement.

Where The Ranger was seemed to be in the same condition as most of the Post-War places he'd been on tour. Everywhere he looked, there were marks of battle-Buildings in ruin and collapsing, smoke and fire belching from the landscape, and the occasional spatter of red that was followed by the customary civilian corpse.

The Ranger stopped to examine one, however, and it made the gears in his head turn. It was a woman, cradling something in her arms. Large red splotches all over her body marked bullet wounds, and, judging by the grouping they were made by a machine gun.

One that had been aimed at her.

The Ranger looked around before he knelt, creeping up to the body as he rolled her over. In her cold, limp arms was something wrapped in cloth. It stirred, and The Ranger was suddenly reminded of the Legion using children and mothers as weapons, giving them bombs or grenades to do their dirty work for them.

It had made The Ranger more than sick-It had made him certain that he'd make them pay.

Thankfully for The Ranger, however, the squirming mass wasn't a live plasma grenade-It was a baby. It was sleeping silently, peacefully even, which was in sharp contrast to the war-torn world around it. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, and would no doubt die here.

Unless The Ranger did something about it.

He was here, after all. He could help the baby, right? But who would take it? Did this woman have family? What if someone came looking for the infant, and found it gone? What then? He was a NCR Ranger, a veteran even-Kidnapping wasn't something they were known for. Mercy killings, however…Thoughts of Bitter Springs returned to him, massacring women and children at the behest of his C.O., killing the ones sent to auction by the Legion-The Ranger had done this things. What was one more on his conscience?

The Ranger, slipping his revolver out of his hip, and reached out a hand to the baby, who gave a gurgle in its slumber. He froze, and sighed, the noise strange as it rattled out of the gas mask.

No, he decided, today wasn't a day for mercy killings. Wherever this was, it wasn't the Mojave. He was a Ranger, god dammit-Life had value to him.

So, instead, he wrapped the baby once more in the cloth and cocked his Sequoia and stood, duster billowing slowly in the wind as he took off, the baby squirming and gurgling, held close to The Ranger's armor.

Internally, The Ranger wondered if the baby had noticed the change in smell, before reminding himself that the stink of blood, no matter where you go, is the same.

He took off at a faster clip, boots tapping as they moved across the pavement. The Ranger had no idea where to go, but he had to find somewhere to take the child, take care of it. Granted, The Ranger still had no idea where he was, and, therefore, had no idea where the nearest medical facility was, but this was his mission now: Save the baby. Hell, with all the weight he felt on himself just from carrying this infant, it might as well have been save the Mojave.

Finally, as The Ranger passed by an alley, he saw shadows, flitting between buildings, and heard voices. People were ducking into a storefront, one that looked like it hadn't been used in a fairly long time. His breathing was harsh from the running, but he didn't show it. The Ranger had run farther and faster than that before, but didn't want to recall it.

He took a few tentative steps, holstering his revolver as he took hold of the doorknob. Turning it swiftly, he threw it open, and received a charming flashback of the world he'd grown up in that was the Mojave Wasteland.

People, dozens or more, were crowded into this one room. Families huddles together for safety as people with red headbands moved among the crowds, checking on people. The Ranger didn't recognize their language, but he could understand enough of their facial expressions to see familiar things-Pain, fear, uncertainty.

It was like the Wasteland over again.

His entrance, of course, did not go unnoticed. When he threw the door open, all faces turned towards him. Fear turned to outright terror as the nearest crept back, eyes wide in horror. The Ranger couldn't blame them-He must have seemed as terrifying as Death itself, his long duster billowing behind him, his red eyes aglow with merciless intent.

Then a yell came from the right of the room, and The Ranger almost pulled his gun and opened fire. "Watashi no akachan!" The Ranger's red eyes turned. A women, younger than he was, stood up, hope in her eyes as she saw the dark-haired baby in The Rangers arms. A man stood behind her and held her back, his features similar to her. A brother, perhaps. The woman struggled against him, and kept yelling. "Watashi no akachan!" She repeated, "Senaka o atae nasai!" She clawed the air, trying to reach for him, fear, hope, and love all warring in her dark eyes.

The Ranger got the message. The baby in his arms was hers. The woman he found the infant with must have been a sister-maybe a nanny of some kind. He stepped forward, and people parted before him. The woman stopped her frantic struggling, looking directly at the small bundle in The Ranger's arms. The man whom The Ranger took to be her brother, however, kept his eyes on the threat-The Ranger's guns and armor, and his blood red, glowing eyes.

Stopping just short of her, he handed the baby to the woman. With one swift move, she reached out and took him, tears bursting down her cheeks as she held the baby close to her chest. "Shou! Shou, sore wa okasandesu!" She fell to her knees, hiccupping as she cried, the baby gurgling happily. The Ranger felt the weight rise from his back, and felt a certain rush inside him. The man looked at him, eying him up and down.

"Oba no wa nani?" He finally asked, and The Ranger bowed his head. He could feel the man's concern that the baby had come alone. He saw the man freeze and The Ranger brought his hand up to the tip of his helmet, giving the man an idea of what had happened. "Watashi wa kon sansho shite kudasai," He finally said, though his voice sounded broken, pained, "Imoto wa sonogo, shinde iru…"

At these words, the woman finally looked up from the baby, standing as the baby began to cry a little. They took each other in their arms, holding each other close in the loving way a family can when they need to comfort and console each other. It was a beautiful and humbling sight for The Ranger, and, he decided, it was his cue to leave.

He turned on his heel, coat billowing behind him as he made his way for the exit. His mind was filled with what he just saw, and he almost didn't hear a voice call out to him. "Arigato." The voice made The Ranger pause as he turned around, and saw a lone girl standing in the midst of the crowd. Her hair was wild and upturned, a strange shade of red, but she was looking at him as if he was both a friend and a fiend. Finally, she spoke again. "Mishiranu hito ni," She said, nodding to him, "Arigato."

The Ranger did nothing for a few moments, uncertain of what to do. She seemed to be thanking him for returning the baby to his family. For some reason, it seemed strange or miraculous to the people there. The family had sat down again amongst a small crowd, petting and cuddling the baby, people trading whispers and looks at the darkly garbed stranger who had reunited a family.

Before The Ranger could do anything, however, there was a massive explosion. The crash came suddenly, a nearby wall bursting inwards. Ducking to avoid sharps of rock, The Ranger pulled his Sequoia from its holster, but never took a shot.

From amongst the rubble emerged some sort of siege machine, flanked by men in uniforms. They all wore some sort of dark armor, much different from The Rangers. His was scuffed and old, but well fitted. Theirs was tight, polished, and, save for more than a few blood stains, seemed almost primitive.

Those who were armed in the building had their guns trained on the soldiers. It was a stalemate in only a strategic sense; judging from the commotion, the soldiers would easily slaughter the group, and the machine would probably decimate whatever was left of the building. The Ranger felt a few eyes on him, but ignored them as a man emerged from the machine and spoke. "So," he said in a voice that purveyed contempt and little else, "This is where you Eleven vermin scurried off to."

Finally, someone who spoke English. The Ranger, finally relinquishing his silence, stepped in between the red haired teen and the men in the tank. "You need to learn to count, friend," He spoke gruffly, revolver trained on the commanding officer, "Unless that's not something they teach soldiers anymore."

There was an audible shock from the assembly. The soldiers seemed stunned stupid at the sight of this duster-garbed man with a revolver trained on their superior, and the refugees (The Ranger assumed that's what they were at this point) where more than overwhelmed at the sight of this stranger not only speaking their language, but taking a stand for them. The man in the machine, his mouth all that was visible, gaped. "W-What are you doing? Get out of the way soldier, that's an-"

The click of The Ranger's revolver being cocked silenced him. "Not your soldier," The Ranger spat gruffly, "And if you finish that sentence, it'll be your last."

The soldiers turned their guns on The Ranger, but he kept his revolver aimed right at the man in the machine, who sneered. "And you said I can't count! You're outnumbered and outgunned! Stand down or we'll just slaughter you like another Eleven dog."

That term again. It was hardly a connotation of praise, that much was obvious. "Guess I'll have to make my shots count, won't I?" The Ranger said, and began to squeeze the trigger.

"ATTENTION ALL FORCES! CEASE FIRE AT ONCE!" The voice over a speaker system pulled The Ranger from his focus, and jerked the soldiers back to reality. "I, CLOVIS, THIRD PRINCE OF BRITANNIA AND VICEROY OF AREA ELEVEN HEREBY COMMAND YOU!" So, Eleven was the name of The Ranger's new location. It was hardly a polite thing, judging by how the soldiers had used it earlier, and numbers weren't often given out as names for nations. "ALL FORCES ARE ORDRED TO CEASE FIRE AT ONCE! YOU WILL ALSO CEASE DESTRUCTION OF ANY BUILDINGS OR PROPERTY! ALL CASUALITES, WHETHER BRITANNIAN OR ELEVEN-"

The Ranger let the rest fade away to black as he relaxed his stance. Britannia, Eleven, Viceroy, Prince. This wasn't the Mojave. Was it even the world he knew? His world at all?

The soldiers traded looks, and, though their faces were hidden, The Ranger could more than make out the shock. It was nothing compared to his own, but he let that slide and stay hidden. The commander in the machine looked around at the faces of his men, awaiting orders as the man on the speaker, Clovis, finally ceased his orders. He sputtered for a few moments before The Ranger spoke. "You heard him!" He snapped, "Let these people go!" With that, The Ranger lowered his revolver, slipping it into it's holster as he stood straighter. The soldiers just looked at each other before standing aside.

Turned out, wherever you were, people knew to listen to a veteran Ranger.

The commander brought his fist down onto the metal of the tank. "Fine!" He spat, "You heard the prince. Release the Elevens, but I want that man cuffed!" He sneered cruelly, and the soldiers turned.

This time, someone else stepped forward. It was the red-headed teen. Soon enough, the parents from before joined her, forming a wall of people in front of the sputtering tank commander, the visible part of his face turning red in anger. The teen gently pushed The Ranger back, and he caught on, turning off the lights in his goggles. "Go," She said, The Ranger was surprised to hear the accented English, "Go. We'll cover you."

The Ranger nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Arigato,"He said, and then, with a turn of his heel, he ducked into the crowd that was surging for the exit.

He emerged into the light of a dying sun, looking up at the sky as he ran from the rear of the building, coat flying behind him. The Ranger didn't know where he was running to, but he knew to keep going, keep running.

Hell, a Courier he once knew had done the same, and he'd survived a shot to the head. Maybe, just maybe, if The Ranger could find that same strength, he could survive in this twisted world.

With this thought in mind, The Ranger ducked into an alley, and the last thing anyone in the street would have seen was a flurry of the duster before he melted into the shadows, vanishing as only the best of the Veteran Rangers can.