„Gentlemen... welcome to Dubai."

Somehow, these words were fitting to the situation at hand. Here he was, having slaughtered his way through the people who were supposed to come for him, to rescue him and bring him back home. Konrad was wrong; he could not go back. He could never go back.

More would come, he was certain of it. These could not kill him, could not bring his suffering to end, but more would come. He was now a villain, a murderer, an AWOL Delta Force operative... the opposite of what he wanted to be.

After Falcon One would come Falcon Two, Three, Four... they would run out of numbers before long. He dropped the radio, ignoring the distressed cries of the HQ and turned to leave, venturing back into the dusty Dubai. Really, it was more likely that the hunger and starvation would get to him first rather than a bullet.

Such was the end of Cpt. Martin Walker, or so it's been said. After the rainstorm crashed over the ruined Dubai, all searches were cut short for its duration. The relief rescue force came over to try and salvage what was left of the ruined city, save anyone who could still be saved. They'd even found some success in saving some of the survivors from the sheer degree of chaos that was Dubai. Walker, however, hasn't been heard from since. The authorities in charge assumed he simply succumbed to the harsh conditions and ceased to look for a body. Some groups were sent in secrecy to try and secure the man in question, but they always seemed to come up short of finding any traces of Walker's presence. It felt like he vanished into thin air.

A soldier missing here and there was left undiscussed. It could have been the locals, likely furious with the US, the Damned 33rd and their earlier rule of the post-apocalyptic Dubai. Perhaps the elements claimed him. The notion that a man half-dead and too desperate to imagine would be the perpetrator was not something the officials wanted leaked out to the public. Containing the clusterfuck was hard enough already.

The rogue Delta Force operative was never found.

Every time Walker was plagued with doubt, a single thought came back to reassure him: he did his best.

It proved fruitless; they didn't get to save anyone, but the deplorable 33rd had been destroyed and Konrad – put down. A consolation prize that nobody would honor. After all, a more grave threat emerged in its place, or so would everybody think.

Sometimes it felt like it didn't matter and sometimes it felt like it mattered a lot. Scrounging through the remains of Dubai was hard enough without the doubt creeping in now and then. He was a hero, he played his part, he did all he could. It wasn't his fault stars aligned the way they did. Konrad being dead and 33rd being uncooperative were just things he was not prepared for. How could he?

Perhaps it was everybody around him who was crazy and he was the sole sane person remaining. It sure felt that way sometimes. It would feel, at least, if there was anyone to talk to. As far as he knew, Dubai was deserted. He was the sole survivor. Whoever was left alive had likely escaped during the rainstorm or had hidden deep inside the confines of the city, as far away as they could.

Some solitude is nice, Walker wanted to think. Really, at this point he wouldn't mind stumbling upon even a corpse if nothing else.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with him. Wandering aimlessly around the ruins was not doing any good for him. At this point perhaps it was a time to get it over with and put a bullet through his skull? But then again, he could have done that before all of this happened, before he donned Konrad's clothes. He dreamed of nothing. There were no dreams left for a man like him.

The sun felt different. There was no biting wind. No sand scratching at his skin. He didn't dare open his eyes; as far as he knew it could have just been a hallucination. Or maybe he was dead. Walker wasn't sure which option is worse.

At the same time he felt... refreshed? Healthier, for sure. Nothing ached, there were no burns or wounds. He patched himself up after a night at Konrad's place, but not like this. He was as clean as day, as clean as when he was just entering the Dubai. Finally, he opened his eyes, checking for damage. No bruises, no cuts, no bullet wounds. All the equipment of a Delta Force operator was in place. The place itself was displaced however.

This was not Dubai. This was nowhere Walker was familiar with. He seemed to be in some dark alleyway, right by the dumpster – appropriate – but that was all he could tell. There was a skyscraper in the distance? That, and a lot of noise. City noise. Felt like he haven't heard that in forever. He could make out a sign though the language on it eluded him. It was strangely vertical however.

His vision cleared a little as he stood up, wary to just step out of the alleyway into an unknown territory. He was here on his own, and this place really could be anything. Maybe it was Hell and things would go to shit the moment he stepped out into light? The surroundings would change, the demons would pop out, the fires would blaze... after the shitstorm that was Dubai, Walker wouldn't put anything as impossible.

To reinforce that theory, something just exploded nearby. One of the skyscrapers' windows exploded into glass and fire. He could catch a glimpse of someone leaving through there. Whoever the unfortunate bastard was, they were likely beyond help. Not that he felt like going out there. The last time he tried to help people, it was met with a lukewarm reception. Plus, the fact stood that he was still in the unknown. It was one thing exploring what was thought to be a dead city with two squadmates to keep your back safe and another walking into the bustling city in full gear. Worst case scenario, he would have local law enforcers on his ass before he could say "I come in peace".

There was some shouting. The language, if Walker were to take a shot, seemed to be Japanese. It made sense; the signs were famously vertical in Japan cities to accommodate for what little place was there. Assuming that hypothesis was correct, why was he in Japan? Was there some part he wasn't getting here? "Could kill for a Lugo right now..." He muttered to himself, half-heartedly. It seemed like just the type of joke the sergeant would say.

No matter. Whatever the hell was happening there, that wasn't his fight. For now all he had to do was...

…

...what was there to do? Survive? Find some US Army outpost for answers? Search for radio frequencies? He's been thrown into a completely different world, good as new – at least physically – and right in the middle of Japan for no reason other than petty spite of the universe. There was no mission, no squadmates to check on, no villain to dispose of... Walker had nothing to do. The notion only now came to him; he was a free man. There was no forgetting Dubai and things he did, but as far as everybody was concerned he was outside of jurisdiction. His name was likely known to the people sent to retrieve him and the people in charge of those people, but otherwise he could live the rest of his guilt-filled days if he just stayed a little bit cautious. He could pick up the language, teach some dumb kids PE or something like that, the works.

Yeah, right, like that would work out. All he had were the clothes on his back, the rifle in his hands and the sense of dread that once he steps out, things would go to pot once again. There was no way he could just stroll into a pawn shop to get some of the equipment off his back. Hell, he had no idea where a pawn shop would even be in this godforsaken place.

Perhaps the best course of action was to lay low for the time being. Wait for the night, then sneak through the alleyways. Walker ignored the subsequent tremors, explosions and more of Japanese being slung about. This wasn't his fight. This time he would not walk into shit that could be avoided just by saying stop.

This wasn't his fight.

Moving around was harder than Walker thought, even at nighttime.

He kept to the alleyways, but even then, the people were everywhere. He avoided contact, yet it seemed like it was inevitable to try and hide in the crowd eventually. The people were everywhere, and it was freaking him out.

After the Dubai op went to pot, Walker hoped that any human contact would be kept to absolute bare minimum and the number of contacts reduced to near-zero. At the same time he yearned for some. He wasn't sure why; he was as likely to shoot the other side as to try and talk to them. Now, however, it felt like a nightmare. The people in the streets were everywhere, like cockroaches. Men and women, young and old, locals and tourists... the variety was astounding, and in some ways scary. These were all civilians, a breed that he hasn't seen in normal circumstances since... a long time ago.

How long were they in Dubai anyway...? No matter.

Eventually, he decided to try and melt into the crowd. He'd seen his fair share of people in costumes ranging from weird to outright ridiculous, so an ACU wouldn't be that strange to see. Of course, he had to disassemble his rifle first, but – as he tangled into the crowd – nobody was giving him a second thought. A couple of kids pointed at him, talking between themselves in Japanese, but it didn't seem like they did anything else but admire the costume. Hopefully, Walker thought, or this might get messy real fast.

It seemed like he was lucky. Nobody took further attention of him, thank God, and he was free to head towards less populated areas. Once the neons stopped showing up and illuminating everything they could, he relaxed a little, preferring the company of shadows. Walker took a moment to piece his rifle back together – everything was good as new and there was no sand getting everywhere – then resumed the slow, unsure trek towards... well, anywhere where he could lay low for a bit and think. An abandoned building, some warehouse hall or something like that would do just fine. Really, anywhere that could offer a modicum of privacy would be fine.

A scream caught his attention. The old instincts kicked in and Walker pushed his back against the nearby fence, peering cautiously from behind there. Slowly, he approached the scene, applying a silencer to the rifle. Something told him that he would have to use it in short order.

There they were; three men – two middle-aged white-collars and one younger one – accosting a woman. Her clothing seemed to suggest a co-worker of the three. The surroundings were dark, sleepy, lawless. Perfect for three inebriated salarymen to make moves on their colleague. If what Walker heard was true – Lugo liked to ramble on topics most various, especially before the mission – odds were that the three would avoid punishment, perhaps get a fine for noise complaints. The woman would be unlikely to defend herself in court, and if she tried, things would become so much worse for her; she would lose her job or be blackmailed by the three.

The youngest of the three forced himself on top of the woman; they were on the ground now, with the other two looming over the imminent rape. Walker took a deep breath. This wasn't his fight.

...but he needed some target practice.

He came from behind the fence like a shadow, the rifle trained on his targets. They were too busy congratulating themselves on a job well done to notice – or to even suspect – that death was coming. First came the middle-aged man on the left, collapsing after the shot hit his throat dead-on. He gurgled on the ground, hands frantically trying to stem the bleeding, but it was to no avail. The other middle-aged man didn't seem to understand what was going on, likely thinking that his pal just lost consciousness from the liquor. His ticket came next and he fell a moment later in the same fashion. The silencer ensured that nobody recognized that they were being shot at.

The last man sobered up quickly and decided that his primal urges weren't worth it; bolting off the woman with his pants hanging about his ankles. Even if they were buttoned and tugged up however, he couldn't dream of dodging a shot from a Delta Force operator. One "THWIMP!" later, he fell on the ground with a bullet right in his back.

Uehara Michiko's day could only be summed up as terrible.

It was bad enough that her co-workers were hitting on her the entire karaoke. They were getting way too handsy for it to be comfortable. Tenma-kun, her peer and her friend, did his best to ward them off her, but as it turned out, he was in league with them all along; once they've walked deep into the alleyway, all this started.

She knew this was liquor that made them act like this – she drank some of it too – but it wasn't fun nor was it comfortable. They were about to rape her, and Tenma-kun would be the first to do so. But then...

Then they died. First came Yamamoto-san, her manager. She suddenly felt something dropping on her wrist, something liquid. Blood. Distracted with Tenma-kun on top of her she could only catch a moment where the manager dropped on the ground. Then came Owata-san's turn, and he died the same way. Tenma-kun stood up and ran off in a haste, but then she heard the same dull sound that signaled the deaths of her superiors. Still sprawled on the ground, she could only see upside-down as he fell down face-first into the road. For a moment there was nothing but silence as she scrambled to a sit, her skirt and shirt still in disarray.

There was no mistaking it. They were quite dead, as far as Michiko could tell. Shot in cold blood by an unknown assailant. Whoever that was, they didn't shoot her, so this was simply... an execution of rapists, she caught herself thinking before she shook her head fervently. No, no, these were h-her friends... c-colleagues. What they've done was wrong and repulsive, and frankly she wasn't sure if she could forgive them, but to kill them was too much! What about their children? Their wives? Their families?

Somebody emerged from the shadows. Michiko's eyes widened when she saw the man carrying a still-smoking rifle. He looked like a Westerner and his clothes were soldier's clothes. Was he an American? And what was wrong with his eyes? They were like wells full of ice-cold water; to look would be to die a horrible death.

He ignored her, making his way to the bodies of her co-workers. He began searching through, swiping away the wallets of Yamamoto-san and Owata-san. She just sat there, a chill of dread running down her spine. Something about this soldier was wrong, so horribly wrong, but she couldn't tell exactly what. His search was quick, then he made his way to where Tenma-kun lied. Something in Michiko clicked the wrong way and she scrambled to her feet, standing between the soldier and her friend's body.

"You can't! Please, not him! I... that's wrong!" She wasn't sure what she was saying really, but it didn't seem like the soldier did not understand her. No, he didn't even acknowledge her beyond shoving her out of the way. The shove was strong enough to have her stumble back on the ground again. "Why...?"

The soldier did not acknowledge her. He simply grabbed Tenma-kun's wallet as well as his cellphone and his watch before finally turning over to look at Michiko. The woman felt her heart's beating stop almost to a crawl. She finally understood why was this man so strange, so wrong. The secret was in his eyes.

Those were the eyes of someone who stared into Hell, and Hell stared right back at him.

"...why?" She asked again through her tears. This time there was no further answer. The soldier simply walked away, as if he didn't just kill three people. Michiko thought that for this man, killing was like breathing.

Some part of Walker felt bad for the woman. She was clearly distraught after he walked in. No matter. Nobody was going to believe her anyway, and he was not planning on venturing anywhere for the time being. Any news outrage and a hypothetical investigation he could likely ignore as long as he was holed up somewhere remote.

He was packed with some MRE and he was certain he could buy something in one of the vending machines he spotted on his way to a possible hideout. The salarymen's wallets were ripe enough to him. A start as good as any. For his sleep location he decided to choose an abandoned warehouse; one of the many in the complex. It looked like there wasn't a soul in here. If any homeless or vagabonds planned to sleep here, well, he could likely pretend to be one as well. This seemed like far too away from actual life however, so Walker was hopeful that he would be the sole resident.

...funny, it felt a little like Dubai. Just without all the sand.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound of rustling. He trained the rifle at where the sound came from in a flash. Somebody else was in here. The shape in the shadows was vaguely humanoid and slowly filled out with color as the figure emerged from the dark. Walker frowned, keeping the gun trained on her.

The woman was young – couldn't be older than 25, and even that seemed like much – and dressed in a costume far more elaborate than he had seen on the streets before. It looked like a military uniform of old; a double-breasted coat – with a high collar - with a red scarf across the torso transitioned into a long skirt. She also had a cavalryman's cap on, doing a poor job at hiding the absolute mane of white hair behind her. Behind her was also a selection of cavalry sabers, idly floating in the air, slowly forming around her into a protective circle of blades.

That her eyes had double irises -one red and the other, smaller, blue and square inside the first one – was just a cherry on top. In front of him stood something, but it definitely wasn't human.

The cavalry woman smiled. "Welcome to the realm of gods, Captain Walker."

So this is a new fic I'm writing. Basically, I saw the idea at TVTropes, shuddered, then came back to it.

Re:Creators has an enormous crossover potential, almost as big as F/SN – if not bigger. Thus, I decided that giving this a go could be fun for both me and the readers, since this is unlikely to be the typical course. Go ahead, review and comment and await the next chapter. :)