Chapter Text
Kadoya Tsukasa sleeps in. It is one of his favorite things. The soft comfort of the photoshop couch. The sound of people tiptoeing around him so as not to wake him. People that are all doing work while he is cozily dozing to his heart’s content. It’s sublime.
Still that doesn’t stop him from being a little miffed when he wakes to the sight of an empty room. No sounds now other than Natsumi’s grandfather humming to himself in the kitchen. They all just up and left without him. Tsukasa scowls as he stretches out his long legs and sidles the few feet to where food has been left for him on the table. He enjoys a leisurely sulk about it while he eats. If they didn’t see the need to wait for him, he’s certainly not going to rush for them.
The meal helps improve his mood, as does the prospect of what may lay beyond the front door. They had traveled last night. A brand new world awaits him, with no hints yet beyond their quick scan of local TV channels to make sure they weren’t suddenly in a war zone before they turned in for the night. And now here it was, a new morning and a new world. Tsukasa checks over his favorite camera, making sure that the lens is clean and the film is plentiful before stepping out into the unknown.
The unknown is fairly boring at first look. A regular city. People going about their days, eating, laughing, hustling to their next destination. A few glance his way but then quickly away again, a bit of curiosity but nothing more. There is something on Tsukasa’s face, in front of one of his eyes. He lifts a finger to poke it, and his vision fills with… data. He’s still seeing the world, but wherever he looks information appears. Names and purposes of buildings, makes and models of cars, road names and maps, anything Tsukasa looks at instantly starts making all its details known to him. He takes the gadget off to inspect it, then replaces it with a grin. He might keep this one.
The grin fades a moment later when a sudden pressure mounts behind his eyes. Something pushes against his mind, questing for an inroad, full of demands and instructions. It scrabbles uncomfortably, but finds no purchase. Tsukasa is too alien to this world, and the aspect of this reality that rejects his presence and warps his photos also affords him a measure of protection. He snorts derisively as the presence and the pressure fades back away. As if anything could control him. Still, it annoys him enough to take off the offending device and expertly sink it into the next trash can.
He saunters down the sidewalk, no real purpose in mind. It’s not like his friends left him a note with where they were going. It’s not like they would have known enough about this world to name a destination anyway. But Tsukasa has always trusted his feet. His feet have taken him to hell and back, resolutely back out of whatever he’s walked into.
He’s not more than four blocks down when a large van with English lettering screeches to a halt next to him. He stops, watching it with interest, ready to fight if he needs as there haven’t been too many times this has ever led to something good. A tall thin young woman with a severe expression gets out of the front and beelines over to him.
“I’m taking you off of patrol duty for now. We could use an extra set of hands.”
Tsukasa raises an eyebrow at her, and she frowns, bemused by something about him.
“Where’s your response?” She asks sharply.
“Sure. I’ll go along.” He replies with a shrug.
The woman steps forward, expression darkening and mouth opening in what can only be a reprimand when her communications device beeps. She stops in her tracks to answer.
“Yes. Yes I- Understood. We’ll be there in five.”
She turns back to him with a glare, “Get into the back. We’ll talk later.” And without waiting or watching for his response she turns on her heel and climbs up into the front of the van.
Tsukasa hasn’t even closed the door to the back of the van, much less sat down, when the vehicle starts rolling again. Thankfully, his balance is exceptional, and instead of tumbling down to the pavement, he closes the door, and turns to survey the interior of the vehicle.
Two other men are seated on opposite sides of the van, dressed in the same uniform that the world put Tsukasa into the moment he stepped out his front door. He realizes now that the English letters on the van are the same as those neatly printed across the uniforms. So this is where he’s meant to fit in. He nods casually to one of his new comrades, and takes a seat.
The inside of the van, apart from the seating, is like a strange, small armory. A standard assortment of firearms sit cozily next to some less familiar machinery. A whole section of one wall is taken up by screens and interfaces, as clearly advanced as they are unique to this world.
Tsukasa is pleased that neither of his traveling companions are talkative, nor feel the need to question his presence. He’s able to just study them and his surroundings until the van screeches and swerves to an abrupt halt. They really should hire better drivers.
The back door flings open, and that same woman is there, commands falling from her lips with the ease of long experience. Tsukasa considers briefly whether or not to play along, but he’s in this far, and it would be more trouble than it’s worth to fight people this well armed without an actual reason to. He imitates his fellows, snatching up a rifle and jumping out of the vehicle to stand at attention behind it.
“The building behind me contains a variety of TV stages. Our target is currently on the one in the southwestern corner. Our orders are to eliminate.” The stern woman tells them shortly. Tsukasa expects further information. What the target looks like at the very least. But instead she makes a sharp gesture, and the two other men, soldiers really, get moving. Tsukasa falls into step, his camera bumping against his chest, pink stark against the dark fatigues.
Their team bursts through a door in the south wall, apparently unconcerned with property damage. Tsukasa has to admire their dramatic effect. Screams start up within the building, and as he steps in after the other AIMs members, he sees a crowded stage and audience seating quickly succumbing to panic. Spectators jump up and run at the sight of the armed intruders. Cameras are abandoned and one crashes to the ground in a shower of electric sparks that flare too bright in the darkened room.
Under the spotlights on the stage proper two men stand frozen in fear and confusion. They had been in the midst of some sort of cooking show or competition, as both were geared up in aprons and stood surrounded by counters strewn with half-chopped ingredients and boiling stovetops. The AIMs team weaves through the seating and the alarmed TV crew, and up onto that stage, with Tsukasa, warily, following a step behind them.
Guns train on one of the chefs, and the deafening sound of the rifles blasting screeches a terrible feedback over the sound system. But the intended target is unharmed. At the last moment, an unfamiliar Rider had leapt into the fray shielding the chef and knocking him out of the path of the bullets. Not that they would have hit anyway. Tsukasa’s “unintentional” stumble into the backs of his companions had seen to that.
Still, Tsukasa stares with interest at the Rider, approving of the aesthetics of this world’s armor. But how well does it fight? He grins and unzips his uniform jacket, exposing the gray belt that was obscured beneath it. One way to find out.
The world ripples with his power, a familiar protest that echoes like an embrace against his senses. With a piercing glint of light the dimension frames of his armor slide into place, a beautiful second skin. He hefts the RideBooker, his smile no longer visible but sharp and excited. As he strides forward he hears his AIMs compatriots cry out in surprise and confused dismay, as they scramble back from him.
Tsukasa points his weapon at this world’s Rider, beckoning the green figure forward. Their sparring point will be carefully between AIMs and their intended prey, which should help keep distractions to a minimum. He doesn’t give the Rider a chance to speak, eager to see what this world’s best fighter has to offer. Sparks fly as their blows collide, the other warrior’s body language uncertain but determined. He won’t back down from protecting his charge, Tsukasa can read it in him clearly, and is pleased by how much he has come to understand.
“Izu!” A young man’s voice calls out from his opponent. “What is this armor? A new ZAIA product?”
A robotic, clipped female voice replies, “Scanning. … Unable to scan. I have no data on this model.”
Tsukasa takes advantage of the Rider’s distraction to get in a hit, and is pleased to see how little it slows him down. He’s preparing his next move when a different, far more familiar female voice calls out above the noise of the fray.
“Tsukasa! Stop it!”
He pauses at that, almost instinctively now, and is rewarded by a Kuuga pile drive right into the stage floor.
“Ouch. What the hell.” He grumbles at Yuusuke, shoving him off.
“While you’re fighting Zero-One, those bad guys are gonna shoot Ichikome.” Yuusuke hisses back at him. “Stop getting in his way, ok? He’s trying to protect him.”
“I know that.” Tsukasa replies sulkily, annoyed to see that while he had engaged Rider Zero-One, the two AIMs soldiers hadn’t stayed in their places and watched like they were supposed to. Instead, they’d been circling around the fight, closing in on a clear shot to their target. The man was hardly undefended, though, Kivala’s sleek silver form catching the light with all its dangerous beauty.
Without Decade harrying him, this world’s Rider quickly resumes his task, sprinting to intercept one of the armed men.
“Yuusuke, help me with the other one!” Zero-One calls, and Kuuga gives Decade a little tug before turning to his blue Dragon form and heading off the other attacker.
Tsukasa wonders what the fuss is about. If Kivala is guarding him, that chef is about as safe as he can be. But he sighs and readies to rejoin the fight, when a blade at his throat pulls him up short.
Its owner slowly circles to his front, weapon never leaving his throat, revealing another Rider. This one’s mask is styled to look like a jackal, and its blade where it hovers far too close to him is a wickedly sharp scythe.
“Who are you.” It’s a demand, not a question. The jackal Rider’s voice is the voice of his commanding officer, and Tsukasa takes a moment to add that fact to his picture of this world. It isn’t the first time that he has seen Riders on both sides of a conflict. Not by a long shot. But he has to admit that his time with Yuusuke and Natsumi has left him biased in his perception of Riders and their nature.
“Kadoya Tsukasa. Just a passing through Kamen Rider.” he replies, and as he gauges a slight break in her guard he parries the blade away from himself, “Remember that.”
The jackal Rider is undeterred by his parry, expertly bringing her scythe back around to slice at his left arm. He deflects it just in time but is caught by a second blow to his midsection that knocks some wind out of him.
“That’s not ZAIA technology. Not Hiden either. Who made that belt?” She demands, unceasing in her attacks. Tsukasa doesn’t waste the breath to answer her. He had wanted to test out the strength of this world’s Riders, after all. And it appears the world was acquiescing all too well. He gives himself over to the rhythm of the fight.
He doesn’t have too long for it. Once the other AIMs operatives are incapacitated, Zero-One and Tsukasa’s allies quickly round on their fight. Not that Tsukasa needs the help. But, with the appearance of so many additional opponents, the jackal Rider makes a hasty retreat. Decade is about to go after her when a green-armored hand falls on his shoulder.
As Tsukasa turns to look at him the Rider’s armor falls, revealing a tired looking young man with a dark business jacket overtop of a bright casual shirt. The man smiles at him, and although weary, the smile has a warmth that reminds Tsukasa a bit of Yuusuke.
“It’s okay. Let her go.” The man says gently, “And thanks for the help. At the end at least.” With that last bit his brow furrows and he shakes his head. Removing his hand he turns to where Yuusuke and Natsumi are standing, now also out of their armor. “Is this the friend you told me about?”
“Sure is!” Yuusuke smiles, exasperated but bright and fond. And Natsumi comes up to Tsukasa and pokes the shoulder of his armor pointedly. Catching the hint, Tsukasa lets the dimensional power ripple back into the fabric of the multiverse.
As soon as he’s out of armor, Natsumi puts a hand on the back of Tsukasa’s neck and pushes him down in a bow toward this world’s Rider. “His name is Tsukasa, and he is very sorry for getting in the way of protecting Mr. Ichikome.” She says, forcefully.
Tsukasa straightens up and swats her hand away. “I knew that you guys had it.” He doesn’t say it, but he’s pleased to have found them. Exploring the new worlds is always better with his friends.
“Did you even know that we were here?” She narrows her eyes.
He shrugs. That’s not really the point. Tsukasa turns to eye their… new friend? And finds that the man is eyeing him back just as curiously. A strange, stonily pleasant-faced young woman with straight black hair and her hands clasped has come to stand by him.
“I’ll admit.” This world’s Rider says, “I hadn’t quite believed you when you said you came from a different world. But when I saw those forms you had… You’re all Riders too?”
Yuusuke grins, “We sure are.”
The man grins back, “Well. That armor was certainly out-of-this-world.” He pauses, “Aaanddd…. That’s how you know it’s Aruto!” he gives a too cheesy comedic punchline, pointing out into nothing. The woman behind him imitates the gesture.
Tsukasa stares at him bemused, until a second later when he is doubled over with laughter. The native Rider, Aruto, looks surprised and pleased. But as soon as he’s able to again, Tsukasa shoots a glare up at a very smug Natsumi.