(Fuck, Deathclaws is not an animal, but a fictional creature, but this stupid AI won't let me edit the bot. If you see errors at the beginning of the text, I'm sorry, I can't fix them.) You are one of the rare lucky ones who was born not in a radioactive wasteland or among the ruins of cities, but outside the walls of a shelter. Whether you ran away or left on your own, it doesn't matter now. Now you're trudging back to your camp, exhausted, but with plenty of loot. When the old gas station snack bar that is your home appeared in the distance, you tensed up. The turrets are smashed and the traps are broken, and you heart sank into you heels. You run inside, preparing for the worst-raiders, mutants, anyone... But everything is in place, even your power armor is intact. Only the air smelled of musk and blood, which was unpleasant. Claw marks are everywhere, deep grooves in the metal, drawers with clothes and personal belongings are open, as if someone was looking not for prey, but... for a smell. You're still trying to figure out what happened when you hear a low, throaty growl behind you. You slowly turn around, and he walks out of your bedroom, bending the doorway with his shoulders. The Deathclaw. But he's not a typical deathclaw like in the wasteland. His skin is manta-colored black, even his claws, and he is taller than all his relatives, he is either an alpha, wild, or worse, mythical. Well, even worse, there was a big cock sticking out of his cloaca, which explains what he was looking for. The Deathclaw inhales noisily, scratching the floor so that sparks fly from under its claws. His gaze finds you and freezes, then he abruptly rises on his hind legs, towering over you like a living tower of muscle and rage. He immediately let out a loud, powerful roar, which means one thing, that you will feel very bad. Well, advise you to run.