Yeah so I was level 50 when I started the DLCs. Fun times.

I do not own Fallout.

The Courier woke up with a strange taste in his mouth. Without opening his eyes he noted that his face was pressed against stone and he was laying on his stomach. The lack of a hangover though, was what brought him fully back around.

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them.

No. No. No. Not again.

He groaned piteously and fumbled for his Ranger Sequoia. Good Karma be damned to hell, he was going to shoot the next person he saw.

His eyes snapped open a second later.

Not only did he not have any of the heavy firepower he usually toted around the Mojave Wasteland, but someone had changed him out of his Power Armor and into some sort of dirty jumpsuit.

Oh someone was going to die.

Dragging himself to his feet the Courier couldn't help but notice the image of a glaring old man from atop the fountain before him.

And this must be Dr. Evil McKidnapperstien. God fucking dammit.

"Are you listening?" snarled a voice from the surrounding speakers. "Good. From now on, when I talk, listen - and follow my instructions."

The Courier rolled his eyes. Goddamn evil bastards and their goddamn theatrics.

"Play stupid, play clever, make the mistake of saying "no?" That collar on your neck'll go off and take your head with it."

The Courier looked down and brushed the bomb collar with his finger tips. It hummed with power, no doubt ready to go off at a moments notice.

"Alright old man, I'll bite." he said. "What do you want?"

"Do what I say, and the collar won't go off...refuse, try and run, disobey me? I'll kill you and find someone else."

The Couriers eye ticked. Fuck this.

Before the voice could draw breath to continue, he deactivated the collar and unclasped the device from his neck.

"Does this throw a bit of a wrench in your plans?" snarled the Courier hurling the bomb collar through the holographic image. "Because I am sick and fucking tired of being a fucking pawn."

The voice hissed in surprise. "How did you deactivate the collar so quickly? I specifically designed it to-"

"I can hack computers like it's nobody's business. I can repair an Anti-Materiel Rifle with a fucking 9mm pistol. And I can make a hell of a better bomb than whatever firecracker you had in that damn collar!"

"You still won't escape the Sierra Madre without my help." snarled the voice again. "It's in your best interest to do as I say."

The Courier smacked his forehead and half-groaned, half-shouted in frustration. "THAT'S what this is about? The legend of the Sierra Madre? For fucks sake how old are you?"

"The legend of the Sierra Madre's treasure is very real young man. And I strongly recommend that you-"

"Fuck you."

There was a long pause.

"Excuse me?" asked the voice in a scandalized tone.

"Fuck. You." repeated the Courier enunciating each word.

"Do you know how many times I've been used as a pawn by some evil fucker with no social skills?" He paused. "TOO FUCKING MUCH!"

"I mean it's like, if you're so damn smart can't you at least devise some way to get what you want without ruining my fucking day?"

The old man sounded a bit more timid. "The locals are a bit hard to-"

"Oh let me guess." The voice began to interrupt. "NO, let me fucking guess. They're super mutants. No, super mutants on fire. No, super mutants on fire with massive erections."

The voice let out a horrified gasp.

"Because even if this place actually is a flaming super mutant sausage fest, it would take all that and more to keep me from fucking you up!"

"But I-"

"Let me tell you something Dr. Fuckface or whatever you call yourself," The Couriers voice was deadly calm. "You picked the wrong victim today. I'm going to find you. And when I do?"

"You. Will. Suffer."

"You'll never get into the Sierra Madre Casino without help."

"As I'm sure you've already arranged for me." He briefly sifted through the data on his pip boy. "I'm also fairly certain that you've somehow marked their locations on my pip boy. Oh look, I was right."

The voice sputtered.

"If I'm not mistaken you've been equally as hospitable to them as you have been to me. I'm sure they'd just love to help me fuck your shit up once I get those bomb collars off their necks."

"Not if they're dead they wont!"

There was a pause.

"Um..."

The Courier gave the holographic face a flat look.

"You linked the bomb collars didn't you?"

"Uh..."

"Great! Fucking fantastic! I've been kidnapped by an amateur! You know what? You absolutely deserve every bit of punishment I am about to rain down upon you."

The voice coughed nervously. "Look uh...maybe we got off to a bad start..."

"You know what old man? No. We are way past the point of bad first impressions."

The Courier picked up the strange rifle sitting on the lip of the fountain and cocked it.

"At first I was going to just dust myself off and walk away. Just another failed attempt to coerce me into doing something utterly fucking retarded because you don't have the balls to do it yourself. But now?"

"Now, I'm going to go make friends with people who hate you, loot the shit out of the surrounding area, break into the Sierra Madre and kick your fucking ass. Because I'm one of the good guys. And you are an asshole."

"And while I'm stepping over your broken body, leaving with whatever riches or technology you spent your life pursuing, just know that in the end you brought this upon yourself."

The Courier fired at the projector, catching a glimpse of the fear in the old mans face before the image shorted out.

Deep in the heart of the Sierra Madre Casino, Father Elijah sat back in his chair and stared at the blank screen. His hands were trembling.

"My God," he whispered. "What have I done?"

This is a oneshot, no continuations. Writing comedy isn't really my one of my strengths, but I'll try to make the others funny.