A/N: Hello and welcome to the strange land were characters and universes collide in wholly unexpected (but sometimes expected) and interesting ways. This is the first time I've written something like this; I wanted to post some of it to see if there was any interest, so let me know what you think. I don't want to give much away before you read so.. enjoy!

Chapter 1: A Strange (Not So) New world

The first thing I was aware of was a persistent, high pitched siren spearing through my head. It felt like someone driving an ice pick in between my ears, but was familiar too; it meant something bad, what was it?

Unfortunately, the head splitting chirp was a pleasure compared to the second sensation: debilitating pain shot through my left arm into my chest like a fiery lance. My jaw clenched and back arched in agony. I forgot all about the siren… and anything else that may have been careening through my head at that moment. It felt like someone had put the left side of my chest into a hydraulic press and pushed 'close'. I fought against the mind crushing pain for what seemed like an eternity. The last time I'd felt pain like this… my head was blank. Not just from the agony, but I couldn't remember anything. Nothing was coming out of the fuzzy, dark mess that was my mind. I couldn't draw on any memories, thoughts, nothing outside of the searing agony in my arm.

Now panic worked its way into the party. What was happening? Where was I? Why was I hurt? How'd I get here? Am I-

Breathe.

The word boomed through my panicked mind, a smothering cloud in the torrent of confusion and pain. It was a firm, unyielding voice, a woman I knew well… very well. Who was she?

Don't be a pussy; if you're here to get back at the Covies you better get the fuck up and show me you aren't a failure. I promise I'll ship your ass back to Reach and let them deal with you!

Those words weren't a command, they were a challenge, whoever that was betting I couldn't do it.

Like hell.

I commanded my jaw to unclench; drove my mouth open through sheer force of will and sucked a stiff breath through my teeth. It was like prying open a sealed hatch with my bare hands. But that hatch was going to open dammit. I took another labored breath. And another. And another. I worked my lungs until I was nearly panting from exertion, but my body finally began to unclench. After what, in my mind, was countless gasps for life, it finally started obeying me again.

Slowly, my eyes crept open, but all I could see was the inside of my visor. My visor… I was wearing a helmet. So the siren was coming from that. What did it mean though?

Shields

Shields? My shields were down. Okay… shields for what? The shields, helmet… I'm in some sort of armor? That's right, my armor: MJOLNIR. And that voice- that was Kristina, my DI. What's next? My name- my name was Damon. So I know who I am at least. … That doesn't help much.

I gritted my teeth against the searing pain and pinned my left arm to my side. I got my right hand under me and pushed myself into a sitting position; my gauntleted hand pressing into something soft and gritty, dirt or sand. As the HUD faded into life and the world resolved as my visor cleared, what I saw only fed my confusion. I'd been lying on a hillside overlooking a small town maybe a click away. Or what had been a town at some point in the distant past… and what was a hillside around the same time. The buildings were dilapidated, almost beyond recognition. Many were missing walls, roofs, entire sections were crumbling off into nothing. No house was completely intact and if any repairs had been attempted, it wasn't obvious. The roads were so pockmarked and damaged, I wasn't sure they could be called roads anymore. This town looked like it had seen a war and lost. The area around me was covered in dead trees, brown vegetation, and what grass there was looked sickly and dying. Even the dirt looked more brown and lifeless than it should have. Wind carried some of the soil and plant life as it wisped across the rocky, barren landscape. Everything must have been desert dry.

The hell is going on?

As much as I wanted to stay seated, wait for my arm to change its mind about the pain, stop my head spinning like a top, and try to get my wits back, I knew staying there was a bad idea; unknown position, unknown territory, remaining out in the open with little or no chance to take stock of the situation was a good way to get killed. How I knew that was still hazy, but instincts were always something to listen to.

So I got my legs under me as diagnostics began scrolling across the HUD: my humerus was fractured just below the shoulder and my rotator cuff was damaged. Shields were down for the time being, estimated repair time said 12 hours. Most of the first aid systems were down, lucky me. Sensor suite was damaged too: motion sensor was out of commission, same with my comms and part of the Hazardous Environments Response System. My readout gave me a two day repair time for the first aid unit. The repair time for the suite wasn't listed. I pat my hip where the M6I was… or should have been. The MA5D wasn't on my back either. My knife was still sheathed under my left arm though, and I'd worked with less before- I think.

I began down the hill toward the destroyed town; it didn't seem like there would be anyone living in the dilapidated mess, but either way was fine with me. If there were people in it, they might be able to give me an idea of what was going on. If not I might have some time and quiet to sort out the jumble that had been my head at one point.

Walking was uncomfortable… somehow. I didn't feel right as I plodded down the hillside through waist high brown grass, bushs and the occasional tree, as if my brain was afraid my legs would give out at any moment, but the muscles were sending back an 'all good' signal at the same time. The armor's gel layer had stiffened around my shoulder to support it; I couldn't move my upper arm, but at least the agony didn't get worse. The pain wasn't my main concern anymore, I've dealt with that plenty. What worried me is how little I remember: my name, my armor, the name of my DI, but so far everything else has felt hardwired. Evaluate my situation, plan best course of action, how to execute, threats and pitfalls to watch for, scan the terrain, stay mobile. I'm a soldier, a good one, I know that much. The rest is there, it's just a jumbled mess of grey and black.

And worrying about it won't help; it will come back or it won't. Stay active, stay alert, stay alive.

Great… now my own thoughts are berating me. I checked my mission clock, 0230. That wasn't right, judging by the star's position it was noon, or close to it. So wherever I was, it was either near the opposite side of whatever planet I'd been on, or I'd been taken to a different one somehow. Or my clock was broken too.

As I walked I noticed a strange haze on the horizon all around, like a muddy brown mist surrounding me on all sides. Well… I guess it suits the rest of this world's theme of turd brown everything.

The town didn't get any better as I approached; most buildings had missing walls, missing roofs or both, only a pile of rubble to mark their history. Those that did have them looked like they'd been through a war, and lost: holes adorned every possible surface. The edges were weathered so this wasn't a recent development. I dropped into a low crouch as I got within a few hundred meters of the edge of… 'civilization' for the lack of a better word, creeping through the overgrown, sickly looking plants.

No more than a dozen paces later, I stopped. Something was off about the approach; there was plenty of visual cover with the bushes, but my instincts were screaming at me.

My gaze travelled across the surroundings until it landed on a small wooden pole protruding 20 cm from the pale dirt maybe 50 meters to my 11. It could have been a stake for supporting a sapling in another world, but it was not accompanied by said tree. On top of that, it wasn't rotted or wind eroded. If I had to guess it was placed there within the last few weeks. Range marker. The town was inhabited.

I couldn't stay there; I'd been sauntering toward the town like a dumbass, completely exposed, and a sniper was probably waiting for me to get in range before putting a round through my head. Without my shields, if they were shooting something large enough and got lucky enough to hit my soft armor undersuit, I might get a new hole in me. Well, the only cover in any direction was the town.

So I got up and sprinted for it.

Or maybe a dead run with my arm. Each stride sent a new spear lancing through my chest, but it was either that or a sniper round and I prefer the type of injury that isn't fatal.

20 seconds into my sprint I found the first evidence to support my theory: I vaulted a half dozen dead bodies, all facing down, all looked like they were moving toward the town. An instant later, I came across another body, then another. Even though I only had a heartbeat to see each, something struck me as odd. They weren't dressed in combat armor, or even the cobbled together protection militias might use. These bodies were dressed in a mixture of leather and what must have been heavy steel or iron plates with how much rust covered them. None of them looked like they could stop anything larger than a 9mm. They hadn't used any basic tactics either: they laid in tightly grouped clumps, a sniper's dream. An average human, running at normal speeds would have no chance moving across so much open ground without sound tactics and good coordination, and it was still an unnecessary risk. Even so, many of them had been hit several times, so whoever was on the other side of the gun wasn't a skilled marksman either.

I reached the edge of the town before I could make any further observations. Sliding to a stop, I crouched in the shadow of a collapsed 3 story house. The sniper either wasn't positioned to fire on me, or had remarkable trigger discipline. Judging by their handiwork, I'd have to go with the former.

No motion sensor meant I had to make do with an old fashion sweep and clear. Unfortunately with no ranged weapon, I would have to stick to close quarters sightlines.

My hand wrapped around the hilt of my knife; it felt good, familiar. I pulled it from the sheath and began toward the shadowed passage between this house and the one to its left. My body went on autopilot: step, look, listen, check for potential ambushes, vantage points where I might be able to get my bearing, backtracking at random intervals to make sure no one was trying to follow.

While my instincts took over, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on. Even on the most backwater worlds, combatants had access to armor light years beyond what those bodies were wearing. The wasteland, the crumbling city. None of it made sense. I still couldn't remember much, but I did know this wasn't normal by my standards.

A sound drifted into my helmet from ahead of me. It sounded like… talking. People? Contact probably wasn't a good idea, but observation might be a good way to get some answers. I crept forward, double and triple checking every angle, shadow, possible hiding spot, or outlook.

As I got closer, voices resolved into arguing; there were three of them. Men. One of them screamed something, followed by a loud thwap and a yelp. This was a fourth, a woman. This is clearly a combat zone so… POW? Interrogation? Or was it just torture? Something else entirely?

Soon, I was close enough to pinpoint where they were, a faded blue two story shop about 50 meters ahead, and hear what they were saying.

"Fuck her, she doesn't want to talk. This is a waste of time."

"No Gristle a waste of time is looking through this goddamn city when that Minuteman fuck might still be waiting to put a laser in my ass. A waste of time is 10 dead guys back there. This is saving a lot of pain. For us anyway."

Torture. I continued forward at a low crouch, carefully picking my steps to avoid the looser rubble. This might be educational.

"How long you gonna take with this bitch then? This is supposed to be your thing, it's been an hour and a half and you can't break this tiny fucking excuse for a woman?"

"Gristle, get the fuck out of here. Let us work." That was the third man. "All you're doing is running your mouth because Jernigan is gonna have your ass when we get back after losing almost half our guys."

"I'm still in charge you little shit-"

"You three sound like my parents", the woman said in a quiet, raspy voice. "Can we get back to the torture, I really don't want to listen to this."

Another blow.

"Did I ask you anything bitch? I didn't think so. You don't have permission to talk until I do." The first man again 'Gristle'.

"Wow", she rasped back, "that really all you got?

"Gristle! Get out before I strap you to the chair next to her", the third man said.

"You don-" a soft thud interrupted whatever his retort had been.

As the sound of someone falling to the ground reached me, the second man began talking quietly. "I don't care if you're the number two, I will bury you out here if you don't get the fuck out."

Ooooh, scary.

A sputter followed by fumbling footsteps signaled 'Gristle's' compliance. I tucked in between the shop and whatever the collapsed mess next to it was supposed to be as the man stumbled into the open, clutching his stomach. "Motherfucker. I'm gonna kill that bastard; he doesn't get to tell me what to do."

Clearly, these guys weren't military or even militia. A gang maybe, but I don't remember if I've had any contact with those. I re-sheathed my knife. Whatever they were, they weren't trained or even experienced; leaving an isolated member in a contested area?

Prey.

While the guy stood in front of the building, fuming, I slipped from the small alley and glid across the intervening half dozen meters. The man didn't notice me until I'd wrapped my right arm under his chin and hoist him off the ground, carefully balancing cutting off his air supply without crushing the thug's neck. He was kicking at my legs and clawing at my arm for all he was worth, but he couldn't get a good hold of the armor covering my forearm and without the ability to scream, he had no way of calling for help.

As the alley's shadow swallowed us once again, I released the man's neck and clamped my hand over his mouth as he dropped back to his feet and pinned him to the collapsing wall of the storefront. I crowded him so the only thing he could do was look straight up at me.

To his credit, he didn't look nervous or scared; he glared up at my faceplate and reached for a handgun of some kind at his right hip. Before his hand could travel more than a few centimeters, I planted my left knee in his side. The blow wasn't hard enough to break anything, but it did wind him.

I activated my external speakers. "I'm going to remove my hand, you're going to keep your voice down so we don't disturb the interrogation. Raise your right arm if you understand."

'Gristle' tried his best to shoot another glare at me as he sagged in my grip, but after a moment he raised his right arm. This guy wouldn't be able to get enough air in him to scream for at least a few seconds, but I still wasn't going to take chances. I slipped my hand off his mouth and returned it an instant later, knife at his throat.

He heaved, trying to force air back into his lungs. "The fuck are you? Brotherhood? Or Enclave?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the best way to get info was to let the target say it themselves. I just need to lead him along. "Making assumptions?"

He wheezed a mocking laugh. "With that armor you wouldn't be anyone else." So they have power armor, or something like it? Maybe even military outfits. I'd never heard of them though. On top of that, wouldn't it make sense for anyone to know the standard military? The… UNSC? It would make sense for him to assume I'm with them first.

Good contextual information, but not presently useful.

What leverage did I have? Or what could I offer? How could I get as much intel out of this guy as possible without drawing too much suspicion?

There's an ongoing conflict…

"I'll leave that to your imagination. But you have a fight on your hands; I'm very good at fighting."

The angry glare gained a bit of confusion. "You a mercenary? Bullshit, mercenaries don't come with gear like that. Unless you stole it from them."

So they have some form of advanced equipment then. Who else might have access besides the UNSC? The Brotherhood of Steel didn't ring any bells. If they were enemies of the UNSC that could be dangerous, but this guy clearly wasn't one of them. Maybe I can glean who they are if I play this right. "Maybe you're lucky."

"Wh-" my blade was back at his throat before he could get any more out.

"I'd keep my voice down."

He nodded and I let him continue.

"Right… lucky. Why would I bring you in? I've got enough people to handle this."

"That isn't what it sounded like."

He sneered at me. "You want to add your head to the count?"

"You're already down people, what's a gun for hire added to the list?"

"Whatever caps I pay you with."

Uh… caps?

Keep pressing.

"It looks like caps or the rest of your men. Now what's the situation?"

The man looked like he was arguing with himself, glancing between me and the alley behind. "Nah, fuck you man. I don't need your help."

Damn. "I saw a lot of bodies; you need help."

His glare turned poisonous; I hefted my knife. "We chased these Minutemen fuck faces from their little home all the way to Concord without some high and mighty, up his own ass merc. We- I took everything from them but their lives and now I'm gonna make sure I get those too. Fuck, I pull this shit off and I'll have enough supplies to start my own group and I ain't splitting shit with you." He tried to shove me aside, but only succeeded in pushing himself back into the wall.

So I'm in someplace called Concord, these guys are bandits and they're attacking a group called the Minutemen for supplies. Combining that with the state of the buildings around me, I'd guess a war happened, a large one that destabilized wherever I am.

'Gristle' sucked in a breath to shout something. By now I knew enough about him I could see, while whoever they were attacking may not have been the 'good guys', he wasn't worth my time.

My arm snapped forward and the knife plunged into his neck up to the hilt, severing his brain stem. The air 'Gristle' was about to push out in a shout gurgled through the blood spilling around my knife as I slid his body to the ground.

Next step was to talk with the woman they were interrogating and see if she would be any more cooperative. Even if she wasn't I don't think a woman being held captive by a group of bandits, who clearly wanted her dead, was a good place to be.

Knife back in the sheath, I pulled my first victim's handgun from his hip. Well… I think calling whatever this thing is a 'handgun' would be an insult to any of the sidearms I've used. It looked like it was made out of copper or brass pipe. No safety, an internal bolt made from a steel slug and the 'sight' was another copper tube with two wooden screws driven through the sides to meet, roughly, in the middle. The magazine was held in by a spring and pin; the rounds it fired, unlike the rest of the gun, looked relatively normal, if a bit small. Against poorly armored targets, no armor on their heads so far, it won't matter. I just hope this thing doesn't explode in my hand; probably a good idea to use it only in case of emergency.

Since it wouldn't adhere to my mag clamps, I shoved it into my molle belt and slid back to the street. The… conversation was much calmer and quieter than before. The second man was talking, probably to the woman, in a low, intense stream. "-doesn't matter whether or not I'm going to kill you after this is over. Between now and then, you're going to be in a lot of pain. And at the end of it, you're going to give them up anyway so why suffer for it."

"To spite you. Those were good people you fuckers killed."

A sigh. "You know I have a son back at our camp. If-"

The woman threw a rasping laugh back at her tormentor. "Then I hope Preston blows your head off here so he doesn't ever have to see the shitbag his dad is."

"Tough luck on that one." I leaned around the corner. They were in a storefront with the shelves toppled over and refuse scattered everywhere. The woman was tied to a wooden chair with the two men standing in front of her. "He, and the rest of your little gang, are going to die here."

At that moment, the knife left my hand and whipped into the interrogator's right temple. His body didn't have a chance to hit the ground before I was on the second, right elbow driving into his head just behind the jaw. It was a targeted strike, meant to break the spine at the base of his skull but it wasn't really necessary. A half ton flying toward someone concentrated in the titanium plate at the end of my forearm didn't leave much of a head.

I double checked my handiwork before turning to the woman who looked more confused than anything else. "Who the hell are you?" Her voice was dazed, as if I'd hit her as well. I guess I can't blame her when, an instant before, the two dead men were about to begin an interrogation in earnest.

My first thought was to free her, but I checked it; I still have no idea what the current situation is, where I am, or how I got here. The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend.

"That depends on how you answer my next few questions." I triple checked the shop to make sure we were alone while extracting my knife and wiping it on the dead man's shirt. "Who were those guys?"

The woman's confusion in part turned into anger. "Wait, you killed them without knowing who they were?"

I knelt in front of her so we were more or less face to face. "I had a conversation with their friend outside. I know they're bandits of some sort, but I don't know much more."

The anger then morphed into suspicion. "You don't know what 'Raiders' are?"

Raiders? I cocked my head to the side. The implication was clear enough, but I think most people would be smart enough to not carry that title. "No, I don't. I'm new here. What about you? Who are you?"

"I'm the person that stared torture, rape, and death in the face and didn't blink."

I grunted. "I don't care about you personally, I need information. Those guys", I motioned at the corpses, "didn't have much to offer."

"Oh you're so full of shit; you want information, you capture them and do what they were going to do to me, soldier boy, you saved me from them don't try and lie to yourself."

True, in part at least. She'd called my bluff; from the sound of things, her and the people she was trying to hide needed help. I don't know if they're the right people to help, the people attacking them were the right ones to kill. But I still needed info and, other than my conscience, had no inclination to save them.

"That may be true, but you're mixing signals. I could save you and your people, but I'm not doing it for free."

She smirked, or at least tried to, through her grimace. "You want to give us a way out? I don't have any reason to trust you."

"Your other choice is I leave and you die."

The woman's gaze lingered on me as she thought. She was right, she didn't have a reason to trust me outside of my word, just like I didn't have a reason to honor it outside of my conscience. But her group was clearly in dire straits; maybe I was taking advantage of the situation, but I wasn't going to feel bad about that.

"Before I say anything else, who are you with?"

"Not the Enclave or Brotherhood."

That one caught her off guard. "No one else has armor like that."

"The other guy said that too." I left the 'yet here I am' unsaid.

"And you aren't from around here?"

"No."

She purses her lips. "So what do you want to know?"

"We're in Concord. Where is that?"

"Part of what's left of Boston."

Boston… that's a city on Earth right? A city on the Eastern seaboard of North America if I remember right. That's supposed to be a massive metropolitan area, not a wasteland. "As in, Boston on Earth?"

A strange look preceded her answer. "Where the hell else would it be?"

Wait… I'm on Earth, but people on Earth don't know about our other colonized planets? That wasn't possible… and Boston looking like it had been a war zone, then abandoned for a couple decades. Not knowing about the UNSC. The weapons and armor these people have. Raiders.

What the fuck is going on?

Is this a bad joke? A sim? Everything is saying I'm on some… alternate version of Earth, and the only way something like that could happen is a sim right? Then why does my arm hurt like this? No sim I've ever used had pain this accurate, or excruciating. And the men I killed… those were real people, not projections.

"Are you just gonna keep staring at me with that creepy ass helmet of yours?"

My attention returned to the world around me. "What happened here?"

The annoyed expression became incredulous. "What do you mean?"

"I mean why is everything destroyed?"

She stared at me for a moment, dumbfounded, before bursting out in a laugh. "What, did you grow up in a goddamn vault or something?" She stopped to laugh more and I clamped my hand over her mouth.

"Quiet or I leave you here." I may be reeling, but that didn't mean there weren't more Raiders around.

I lifted my hand slowly and her face had changed again. "The War happened. The nukes… 200 years ago." The expression was some mix of confusion and- and pity. She was pitying me? "You really… aren't from around here, huh? Are you an alien or something?"

"No… no I'm human." Kinda. The statement was low, absentminded.

200 years ago. Even if we'd destroyed ourselves, the survivors would have access to much, much better reserves. On top of that, the construction of these buildings was completely wrong. Everything… everything in front of me pointed to something impossible: I'm on Earth, but I'm not on UNCS's Earth- my Earth (though I don't think I've ever been to Earth). How? That word careened through my head like a fighter. How was I on a different Earth?

I won't find the answer, and sitting here staring at this woman won't help. Get up, move, find the right resources.

My attention once again shifted to the world outside of my cluttered mess that at one point was a brain. The woman was staring into my faceplate, eyes intense… and impatient. Wait- her first response to me not knowing about whatever happened here was to ask if I'm an alien?

"Did you just ask if I'm an alien?"

"You did just ask if you were on Earth didn't you?"

"That's-" I shook my head. "What's your name?"

The woman looked me over again, something new on her face I couldn't quite pinpoint. "Alexandra."

"Tell me about the people you're with. How many are there, how many of them can fight, how many are injured?" She hesitated again. "You gave me what I wanted, for now."

"You talk a big game."

"I've done this before."

"Even with that busted arm?" She nodded to my left side.

"Yes. How many are in your group?"

The woman arched an eyebrow, but still answered after another moment's hesitation. "Eight not including me."

"How many can fight?"

"Five. Two others are injured. The guy in charge is named Preston, he's one of the last Minutemen. They're held up in the old Museum, top floor at the back. There are probably 10 or 15 Raiders left, we've taken out 10 of them. We're trying to get to this place called Sanctuary, about 5 miles northwest of here."

The words came spilling out in a stream; I didn't even have to ask any more questions. I was right, she's desperate. She wants to believe I can save them.

I stood. "Okay." I pulled my knife, walked behind her and cut the wire restraints binding her wrists to the chair. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah." She got to her feet, unsteadily.

"Can you fight?"

Alexandra rubbed her wrists and glared at me. "Yes."