The fact that he was still whole was an improbable yet acceptable outcome, the Deathclaw itself was no longer moving from what X could tell.  His auditory sensors were slowly recovering from the overload caused by the mine’s explosion, but he was starting to make out voices.   Near him was a young human with the telltale squeak of testosterone in its prepubescent voice, in a heightened state of anxiety; their body only slowly coming down from the effects of fight or flight chemical additives to their cardio-respiratory and neuromuscular systems.  And also, a gen-3 synth.  [i]interesting...[/i]

Another pair were down the road away, downwind so he couldn’t tell much about them besides their genders.  Likely one would have been the sniper, as the shots had come from that direction.

He reached up to grab onto something and hoist himself up, and found a piece of wood near to hand.  He tried to put his weight on it and pull, but the wood came loose in a slurping sound as it was wrenched free of its apparent resting place inside the deathclaw’s skull. X flopped back down in the tub.  It was times like this X did not mourn the loss of his sight, he would not wish to see the looks on everyone’s faces.

“Would one of you gentlemen kindly help me up, and has anyone seen my stick?”