There is a scrapyard on the Other Railway, where a rather infamous diesel works. Known across the land as the grim reaper, she is one of two remaining class 42's, the other being Diesel 10. While her name is Daniella, she earned her nickname due to her line of work. You see, Daniella works in a scrapyard where broken down diesel shunters are sent to spend their last days, and eventually cut up. Sometimes, she is sent to tow a broken engine to the scrapyard, and once an engine is taken by her, they never return.

Most other diesels are terrified of her, due to her frightening appearance. While the claw she is fitted with is designed specifically for tearing things to pieces, her face and sides were heavily damaged in an accident several years ago. An accident that Daniella barely survived, as she had caught fire, and nearly half of her face had been torn off. While that side of her face had been successfully reattached, she is unable to move it. Not only that, but it is held in place by a crisscross of welded-on metal bars, and an empty eye socket is covered by a metal patch.

Between her line of work, menacing appearance, and notoriously short temper, Daniella earned the title "Grim Reaper" and became feared not only on the Other railway, but all the way to other parts of the mainland, and even on Sodor.

Many rumors had spread about her, and none of them were nice. Many engines believe that she takes pleasure in tearing smaller diesels apart with her claw. Others believe that seeing her, or hearing her horn, will bring misfortune Some even believe that she will deliberately hunt down other engines and kill them for reasons unknown.

Thankfully, none of these rumors are true While Daniella is brash, rude, and quick-tempered, she is by no means cruel or evil. Though no one ever wanted to face the infamous Reaper, an unfortunate shunter by the name of Paul was about to.

You see, Paul was very worn out and sickly, and had spent most of the last two months in the works. His constant breakdowns and need for major repairs had cost his owner too much money, and his owner could no longer afford to continue attempting to have such an unreliable engine repaired.

Paul knew he was going to be scrapped; however, he was fully expecting to be sent to a different scrapyard. He did not know those plans had changed, and as he sat on a siding, waiting to be taken on his final journey; he heard a horn in the distance that sent chills to his very core.

Paul became very frightened, as that was unmistakably the Grim Reaper's horn. "OK, OK, maybe she's going to pick up someone else. I'm not supposed to go to that scrapyard," he said in an attempt to calm himself. However, the horn sounded again, this time closer, and an engine's light came into view in the distance.

"Maybe that's another engine!" he said, but his attempts to calm himself failed horribly as the thing he feared most approached. For now, he could see the light reflecting off a shiny, four-pronged claw. Only one engine had an attachment like that.

Scared out of his mind, Paul shut his eyes tightly, awaiting his doom. His growing sense of dread worsened as the purr of the Reaper's motor drew nearer, and her bright headlamps shone through his eyelids. He expected to feel the sharp prongs dig into him and rip him to pieces, and to hear her laugh at his pain. However, that never happened. Instead, he was coupled up to her, and they began to move. When the Reaper finally spoke, it was certainly not what he had expected:

"Whoops, my bad! Here, lemme dim this light for ya. There, you can open your eyes now."

Though he was still terrified, Paul opened his eyes, for he didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't do as he was asked. With her headlamps dimmed, and being so close to him, Paul could see every detail on the Reaper's face. The crack that ran from the top of her forehead, all the way to the bottom near the corner; the bars that held it together, which were clearly embedded deep into her face, looked like they were very painful. Her one eye stared right at him, the color of rust and sunken deep into its socket.

Her expression unreadable, she spoke again: "I'm guessing you've heard of me?"

"Y-Yes…" Paul stammered, "You're—you're—the—the—"

"Grim reaper," the big engine finished for him, and Paul gulped in fright.

"My name's Daniella," she said, "I won't hurt you, lil one."

"You—you won't?" Paul stammered.

"Nah that's the cutters' job. I usually gotta clean up the mess they leave Aw, crap, me and my big mouth! Look, the cutters won't get to you 'til you're already dead and gone, however long that takes—what?" Daniella said, noticing the mortified expression on Paul's face.

"How can you talk about—that—like it's nothing?" Paul said.

"What, about scrappin' and death? I've seen so much I kinda got used to it," Daniella replied.

Paul remained silent for the rest of the trip. While the Reaper wasn't nearly as frightening to him now, she was certainly morbid, and at the time, he didn't need to be reminded that he was going to die.

Repeatedly.

In graphic detail.

And that was exactly what Daniella ended up doing, for nearly an hour, before she finally seemed to take the hint.

"Oops, guess I got a little carried away," Daniella said, "well, we're here. Oh. That's not a good thing…not for you, anyway…" she trailed off as she pulled him into the scrapyard.

It was a truly frightening place, surrounded by an old wrought-iron fence, which only added to the eerie atmosphere. However, what was in the scrapyard was far worse than any creepy old fence could ever be.

Bits and pieces of scrap metal were haphazardly piled everywhere, some of which were obviously parts of cut-up engines. Daniella took Paul further in, past the torn-up bits and pieces, and put him on a siding, where she was uncoupled. Sitting on the tracks to his right were two other small shunters, and on the ground to his left was another that had long since had its wheels removed. At first glance, he couldn't tell if they were sleeping or dead, and the full realization that this was going to happen to him hit him like a ton of bricks.

As Daniella backed away, Paul began to cry in despair. Here he was, doomed to rot in this godforsaken hellhole until he was either dismantled or ended up completely rusted out.

"Relax," a soft, raspy voice spoke, and Paul saw that it was one of the engines that sat to his right. "You were just brought here, weren't you? I'm guessing you've heard the rumors about Miss Dani...ha, who hasn't?" Upon receiving a terrified look in response, he continued: "it's not true. None of them are true. Nothing but tall tales to scare the crap out of anyone who hears them. Miss Dani's no monster. She's no killer either. She knows good and well she can't save us, but she protects us. You have nothing to fear from her."

"Are you sure? I mean, she isn't what I expected, but she's so…" Paul trailed off.

"Morbid? Look at what she has to live with. The only friends she ever makes are here, and nearly at the end of their lives. Everyone out there is too scared of her to approach her or even say hello. If any of those rumors were true, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now. Name's Alan, by the way."

"Paul. Nice to meet you...I guess,"

"That's Shawn, the one with no wheels," Alan said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Cutters got to him, hasn't been the same since. Miss Dani was not happy at all. She nearly killed one of 'em. Her driver's somethin' fierce too. Let's just say those guys won't be having any kids," said Alan.

"But…isn't that their job to…you know…cut us up?" Paul asked hesitantly.

"Not if you ain't dead, it ain't!" Daniella's voice caught the attention of the two engines, as she was once again face-to-face with Paul. How she managed to creep up on them like that, Paul wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"There's plenty of other work for them to do here. No need for them to make this any worse for you guys than it already is. Just because you're no longer useful doesn't mean you should be treated like trash." Daniella then looked at Shawn, who glanced at he briefly before looking down, then closing his eyes again. "Poor fella's been broken in more ways than one. Used to be so cheerful before those fuckers got to him. Can't get him to talk anymore. Either he's given up completely or he doesn't have much time left. Be nice to him."

With that, Daniella backed away once more, and didn't return for the rest of the night. As a matter of fact, she had returned to her shed, and was soon sleeping soundly. Granted, Daniella was used to living and working in that very scrapyard, so sleeping there wasn't a problem for her. For Paul, however, the first night was absolutely terrifying. This place was something straight out of his worst nightmares. While Alan had eventually gone back to sleep, and Shawn remained silent, Paul stayed wide awake. Thoughts of everything from vandals, to ghosts, to the dreaded cutters' torch, plagued his mind. The complete silence didn't help, and Paul said wallowing in his thoughts, that is, until a piercing scream was heard.

"W-What w-was that?!" Paul stammered in fright. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to hear it, as Daniella was heard shouting, "is everyone alright?! Who screamed?!"

After not getting a response, Daniella went to investigate. A few minutes later, she was heard shouting, "Oh for fucks sakes! How many times do I have to tell you?! There's no bleeding zombies here! Go to sleep! And quit waking everyone up!"

A chorus of nervous laughter erupted from near where Daniella was at, for one of the engines had apparently mistaken another's moaning for that of a zombie.

"Z-Zombies?! Ooooh, I hope there's no zombies!" Paul said nervously.

"Nah, there's none of those," Alan said quietly, "One poor fella's gone a bit nutsy over there. He tends to scream a lot, usually cuz he thinks he heard something, and then his imagination gets the best of him,"

Unfortunately, Alan's words only brought Paul's mind back to the grim reality he was facing. Would he too go insane as he slowly rusted out? How long would it take for that to happen? He'd heard his fair share of horror stories about the scrapyards, and the awful thoughts once again plagued his mind.

It was only a few days after his arrival; Paul woke one morning to the cutters, who were finishing what they had started on Shawn. Never before had he been so horrified and utterly sickened. Later that day, Daniella returned to "clean up the mess" as she so eloquently put it.

"He was already dead," Daniella said as she rather carelessly tossed the bits and pieces of metal into a pile that was several yards away. "Guess I was right about him not having much time left. At least he went out peacefully. I've seen some of these poor fuckers die in complete agony, screaming 'til they can't scream no more, lose their minds and—aw, shit," Daniella said upon noticing that Paul had begun to cry.

"Look, that probably won't happen to you—I mean, it could, but most likely you'd just go out quietly," said Daniella. She let out a sigh. "it's not like I have a freakin' magic wand I can wave around an make you all better," she said, carelessly waving her claw about, "cuz if I did, I'd use it on every last one of you! I get it, being here sucks big, floppy donkey dicks! But believe it or not, my job ain't easy! I don't like having to watch you guys slowly fade away. I never had a serviceable engine sent to this place, only those at the end of their lives, and—if I could make it any better, I would."

"I'm sorry…I didn't know," Paul said quietly, "it's just—"

"Nothin' to be sorry about, lil one. Tell you what, if there's anything I can do, just ask," said Daniella.

"Well, actually—" Paul said nervously, "I—kinda want to know more about you—I mean, I've only heard the rumors."

"Sure, what you wanna know?" Daniella said as she carelessly flung another piece of scrap metal aside.

"Well—um—what—what happened to your face?" Paul blurted out.

There was a moment of silence. No one had ever asked her that! Even Alan had let out a small gasp. Paul gulped, fearing he'd said something to make Daniella angry. However, after a few tense moments of nervous silence on the broken engines' behalf, Daniella spoke: "I suppose you all wanna know, don't you?"

Paul, Alan, and several others murmured in agreement.

"Well, I got nothin' else to do at the moment, so I might as well tell you," Daniella said, and backed up a bit so that she could get a better view of those who she was speaking to. Daniella looked almost hesitant as she did so, however. The new arrival had asked her a question that no one dared ask her before, and now literally everyone in the entire scrapyard wanted to know exactly what had happened to her face. She had never told anyone the details; only the fact that she had been in a bad accident.

Now, she had the attention of everyone who hadn't succumbed to their injuries, rust, or the dreaded cutters' torch.

"Are you OK, Miss Dani?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, it's just, well, it wasn't a very pleasant experience, to say the least," said Daniella.

"You don't have to tell us. Maybe I shouldn't have asked," said Paul.

"Nah, it's the least I can do for you guys," said Daniella.

Several years ago…

It was a gloomy day, not only weather-wise, but there was an air of melancholy that hung around like a thick, suffocating fog. For it was only last week that nearly all of Daniella's brothers had been recalled, and sent off to be scrapped. Only three remained, Daniella herself, and the twins, Diesel 10 and Daniel.

Just a few weeks ago, Daniella would joke about the Thin Git's lack of creativity when it came to naming his engines. She would make snarky comments about it to her other brothers whenever she saw them. Now, that had all changed. Not once did she think that her entire class, save for a few, would be recalled. They hadn't even been in service for a decade.

At the moment, Daniella was resting in her shed, her mind mulling over recent events. The twins, who usually returned an hour after she did, were both very late, and this worried her greatly. Not only were they usually on tikme, but they were all she had left. Unable to sleep, Daniella watched for any sign of her brothers, hoping that nothing had happened to them. Perhaps they had gotten stuck somewhere, or had been called to assist another engine, she thought. She had nearly calmed herself enough to sleep, when she heard a couple of passing steam engines:

"You hear that there was a bad accident on the curve?"

"Yeah, some dumb diesel was going too fast! Probably bought itself a one-way ticket to the scrapheap!"

Daniella was once again wide awake, and with every passing minute, her sense of dread grew worse. Hours later, when Diesel 10 returned, Daniella knew something was very, very wrong. He backed silently into the space next to hers, looking more miserable than she had ever seen him before Once his crew had left, her let out a loud, anguished wail that could be heard for miles, before breaking into choked sobs.

"Whoa, whoa! What happened?" Daniella asked, truly concerned, as she had never seen him this upset.

"I promised him! I told him he'd be OK! He's gone HE'S GONE! Daniel's dead!"

Diesel 10's words shook Daniella to her core, as they confirmed her worst fears that something horrible did indeed happen. However, his behavior over the next several days proved to be even more disturbing. Despite her best efforts, nothing that Daniella said or did could soothe her brother's pain.

When Diesel 10 was sent away for a while, Daniella feared that he had been scrapped, due to the fact that he had flat out refused to do any work, and when he did leave his shed, he had been incredibly reckless, and nearly caused several accidents.

Daniella was relieved the day he returned, but her relief was short lived. Diesel 10 now had a roof-mounted claw, which he had nicknamed "Pinchy", and he would frequently talk to it as if it could talk back to him. Even worse, he hardly ever spoke to anyone, and when he did, it was usually in an outburst of anger. Daniella tried speaking to him on several occasions, telling him that what he was doing was unhealthy; that bottling up his grief was doing him no good, but she never got through to him.

Losing Daniel had driven him insane.

For Daniella, it was almost as if she had lost both twins that fateful night. Diesel 10 had developed an intense hatred for steam engines, apparently having blamed them for his brother's demise. Though Daniella tried her best, she couldn't reason with him. Eventually, he got so out of control that the Thin Git simply gave him away to another railway just to get him off his hands.

Daniella hoped her brother would come to his senses, but those hopes were dashed when she got the news that he had gone on a rampage, and ended up falling off a crumbling viaduct.

Present day…

Daniella paused as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "I never heard from him again. I don't think he survived," she said quietly. "I had gotten pretty reckless myself. Ended up wrecking on the same curve Daniel did."

Several years ago…

When Daniella jumped the tracks, she thought it was all over. She closed her eyes and braced for impact, thinking to herself, "Oh well, if there's an afterlife, I'll be with my brothers."

However, that never happened. Instead, she hit the rock wall face first, and felt the worst pain of her life so far. Fully expecting it to be over soon, it only got worse as the freight cars she had been pulling slammed into her, violently shoving her aside. A horrible scraping was heard as she skidded on her side, followed by a sickening crack as her battered face caught against the debris from the wrecked freight cars. Something had stabbed into her right eye, and the next thing she knew, she could no longer feel that side of her face. A searing hot pain erupted throughout her engine compartment, accompanied by a strong smell of smoke. She was on fire!

Daniella let out a bloodcurdling scream that could be heard for miles. Why she was still alive, she couldn't understand. The only thing she knew at the time was horrible, unbearable pain. She screamed until she was hoarse, thinking that this was hell.

Finally, the flames died down, but she barely registered that the fire had been put out. At this point, she wished it would end.

"Hang in there, girl!" a voice called out. Daniella couldn't see who it was, but she soon found herself being lifted onto a flatbed, and having something secured to the damaged side of her face, and very tightly too.

"What are you doing to me?! I know you're gonna scrap me! No need to chain me up!" Daniella tried to shout, but her voice came out in a harsh, raspy whisper.

"Easy there, you're not being scrapped. I'm taking you to the works," that same voice said, and Daniella found herself face to face with a steam engine that she had never seen before. She didn't get a chance to ask its name, as she found herself barely able to remain conscious. However, the steam engine, which Daniella hadn't the strength to talk to at the time, continued to talk to her and encouraged her to hold on.

What happened next was a blur for her, and the next thing Daniella was aware of was several people standing around her and hearing their voices:

"We have to fix this? Is it even possible?"

"Boss's orders. We have to try,"

"Part of her face was ripped off! That can never be fixed!"

"We're just gonna have to secure it back on somehow, any way we can,"

"Are you suggesting—"

"Yes."

"That's never worked before!"

"I know it's risky, but it's her only chance. Look, we're all aware she probably won't make it, but if we don't try this—"

Daniella was jolted awake by a very unpleasant sensation. Something was creating a very deep hole right next to her nose.

"Easy, girl, we gotta do this,"

Daniella continued to fade in and out of consciousness, for how long she didn't know. She would often wake to the most unpleasant, painful sensations on her face. However, the worst part of the entire ordeal was having the metal bars that would hold her severely damaged face together attached. It was more painful than anything she had ever endured, including the horrific accident that had caused the damage in the first place.

Present day…

"That sounds awful!" Paul exclaimed, then realized that he had interrupted Daniella's sentence. "Oops…sorry."

"It was awful and it almost killed me too. I had woke up, still don't know how long I was out, still being worked on, and the guys that were working on me thought they might've lost me. It took a long time to restore me and get me running again. I wasn't even expected to survive," said Daniella.

"Those bars…do they still hurt?" Paul asked nervously.

"Sometimes, yes, though it's nothing I can't handle. Where they're attached, they go all the way through," said Daniella.

Paul, along with several of the others, cringed.

"Well, that's all I can tell you for now. I got work to do," said Daniella.

"Wait! Daniella? I'm sorry," Paul said, looking down.

"Sorry? For what?" Daniella said, looking at him quizzically.

"For thinking you're a monster," said Paul.

"Aw, it's OK. I'm used to it" Daniella said, albeit with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"But you don't deserve it! You're not a bad guy, and you shouldn't have to be alone," said Paul.

"I'm not alone, I've got you guys, and for some reason I don't think you'll be going anywhere," Daniella said with a smirk, and she left to another part of the scrapyard.

For a brief moment, Paul smiled, ever so slightly. Though he was nearing the end of his life, at the very least, he was in good hands, so to speak. That night, despite being stuck in what was possibly the most reviled scrapyard around, Paul slept soundly, for there was nothing to fear.